The Darkness in My Veins
by almanera
Summary: Listen. It calls to your senses, calls to your very soul. The bit of darkness that hides within you, as it hides within us all. As it once hid within three sisters fair, dark and lovely. Come, listen to their twisted story...Let the chronicles of the Blacks take you back, fifty years back, when it all began. When a Black met Tom Riddle.
1. Chapter One

**Part One**

With a shadowy past and a bleak future on the horizon, the Black Family lived a life that was cursed. They were cursed, yes, whether with magic or just with tangled strings of fate, I do not know. But it consumed their very souls... the darkness did, till nothing was left but an empty mockery of life.

They weren't completely dead though, not yet completely woebegone. Their life was not yet as wretched as the life of those that had completely succumbed to the darkness. A painfully human superficiality had set itself deep within their every movement, action and thought. It was perhaps this that allowed a few of them to survive, later on. The unyielding pride and arrogance that refused to let them become the filth that another old family, descended from Salazar Slytherin himself, had.

The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black they called themselves. The lack of humility transparent to the point of annoyance and just as prominent in it's people as in the name. Thinking their history a relic and the purity of their blood sacred, they thought themselves not only noble but akin to royalty itself.

That isn't to say, however, that power was just an illusion for them. Oh no, the power ran in their blood as thick as magic did. The easy air of command and casual elegance was quick to set those even distantly related to the family apart from those around them. Their cross-breeding habits and incestuous inclinations hadn't affected their magic as much as it had other pure-blood wizarding families. They still consisted of powerful, and power-hungry, witches and wizards... with the only side-effect to their tendencies being a growing insanity. Yet even the rumours of madness weren't enough to keep priers away... They were forever worshiped by the less powerful, fawned over by those wanting to be part of the elite.

Then how, the question is, does a family this powerful fall? Perhaps in the due course of this story, that question will be answered. I am here with a conviction you see, a desire to put an untold story into words—the story of the three daughters of Cygnus and Druella Black: Bellatrix, Andromeda and Narcissa Black.

I'm loathe to admit, but I myself do not know how the end comes to be. All I know is that the story has latched onto me and grates on my very mind. I have no choice but to see it unfold from my fingers, and I assure you that you too, will be just as transfixed.

And so now, it begins...

xxx

_September 11th, 1929 – Black Country House_

_Black growled. His youngest brother... a disgrace. And only now, after the others had been safely admitted to school, had his sire thought it fit to tell them of the latest great blow to the otherwise pristine reputation of their family. As head of the family, he would have to take action. Keeping the boy was out of the question. He would have to be sent away to live with his own kind. Questions would be asked, he knew, and whispers would follow them for an eternity. The coldest of Blacks yes, the one that sent his own brother away. But what choice did they have__—no... they did not want another choice? No other alternative to cover up the mishap. Let the world see the purity of the Blacks, who valued it above all else. Marius Black would be sent away._

The midwife mopped her brow on her apron and looked at the writhing woman below her anxiously. _These Blacks,_ she thought, _always the most painful of births. And the most complicated..._

Irma Black let out a guttural scream, and had the midwife and her helpers in the room not been witches, they surely would have crossed themselves to ward against possession.

"You there!" the midwife suddenly snapped, pointing to a girl standing near the bed, "Heat the water once again and get a fresh cloth for the lady."

As the girl rushed to do her bidding, the midwife examined Lady Irma of the Blacks and chewed on her dry lip thoughtfully. The child inside the woman's womb was nowhere in sight. Despite the water having broken hours ago, the poor woman was still in labour, with the child showing no signs of wanting to start his birthing.

A simple magic detection charm told her the cause of this but sadly did not tell her the solution. It was her educated belief that Irma had suffered from some shock earlier that day which had propelled her into labour before she was ready. Panicking upon realizing what had happened; her magic had created a shield for the child which currently barricaded it inside her womb. She could only guess, given the haste of the situation, whether the child inside was still able to breathe.

Accidental magic was starting to become a common thing among pure-blood families of late and Irma belonged to one of them—the Crabbes. The midwife shifted on her feet slightly as she nursed a slightly prejudiced thought. The Crabbes were nowhere near as powerful as the Blacks, which should make it easier for her to break through the ward. Breaking the shield was her only choice. No potion or the casting of any spell was safe for the woman or her child. Breaking a ward required less energy though, as recent developments in that area of study allowed the use of the ward's own magic to break it. But, should she take long or should the ward prove to be too hard to break, its reactive magic could seriously harm the woman and probably kill her child.

_If it isn't dead already,_ she thought exasperatedly. It was this that settled it for her. If there was already a chance that the child was fighting for life at the moment then she had no choice but to act.

Pulling her wand out, she closed her eyes in concentration and whispered, "Merlin, help me," before beginning a complex wand movement to break the ward.

Ten minutes into the spell, no change was apparent and Irma Black was, if anything, more agitated than before. The midwife continued the silent incantation while the two girls helping her looked on anxiously. A dire fate awaited them as well as the midwife should anything unfortunate happen to the lady or her child. The Blacks were quite an unforgiving lot.

Fifteen minutes had passed. And then twenty. The midwife was drenched in sweat now, her left hand not risking her concentration to mop at her brow again.

Finally, she gave low shout of triumph—which quickly turned to horror as Irma started screaming in the earnest. The girls, a smart bunch, had already begun speaking in the woman's ear to start pushing. The ward had been broken and now the birthing had truly begun.

Some twenty more minutes and a mild charm later, a small, howling and bloodstained baby rested in the midwife's arms. Irma had promptly collapsed with exhaustion as soon as the cord linking the mother and the baby had been severed. The girls came towards her with their arms outstretched, and she gladly handed over the child for them to clean.

After the baby had been wrapped in clean towels and Irma had been made comfortable, the midwife straightened her appearance and made her way outside with the baby. She had expected to find an anxious party waiting for her. They had been in there for nearly ten hours. But she sighed as she remembered her role in the birthing of the other two children, Walburga and Alphard, she believed their names were. There had been no one to receive her even at the birth of the first-born or the other child.

With another sigh and an almost pitying glance at the baby in her arms, she made her way downstairs to the parlour where hopefully, she would be able to find another human being.

She looked back at Walburga with a stern look and said, "Now my dear, little children as yourself should be outside, playing. Not confusing up orders for this poor old lady. I wasn't told to leave the baby anywhere. I would gladly leave him with your mother, had she not gone to sleep! Now please, has your father said anything about when he would be returning?" She began her descent of the stairs and was midway when she was stopped by the sweet voice of a young girl that caused a chill to run down her spine. She turned to see a five year old little girl, who she presumed was Walburga, standing atop the stairs, hands on her hips.

"Our father isn't here. You can leave the baby with one of the house-elves," spoke the fair, dark-haired girl with a confidence that was very odd indeed in a child. The lace frock, little buckled boots and her immaculate appearance in general put the midwife on edge as well. After her initial shock wore off, she chided herself. Had she honestly just been considering handing over the child of a Black to house-elves at the insistence of a toddler?

The girl stood there emotionlessly and said, "You're going to get into trouble for not doing like I said."

With that she turned away and disappeared into one of the rooms, leaving the midwife perplexed. Just then, the doors to the hall were thrown open as the striking Pollux Black came striding into the hall with another man by his side. They conversed in low, stressed voices and took no notice of her or the baby as they made their up the stairs, past her.

"Please sir, wait," the midwife called.

The men stopped and turned, looking annoyed at the interruption. Pollux asked, "What is it, woman?"

"I... Well, erm, this is your child right here. He was born just moments ago. It was quite a difficult delivery actually; your wife's just—"

"I'd thought the message for the child to be left with an elf had been relayed to you." Pollux spoke with a soft voice, seemingly polite, but with a cold bite that was evident with every word.

"By relayed, if you mean I was to take the word of a child of five—" she began furiously, only to be cut off again.

"You are here for services to the house of Black. You are being paid handsomely for it. Therefore, I would say it is your duty to not only listen but also act upon the direct orders of _any_ Black."

She opened her mouth to argue again but was stopped with the wave of an impatient hand before she could even begin.

"Enough of this idle chatter. Leave the child with an elf. And then get yourself and your women out of my house this instant."

With that, the two men walked off, leaving the midwife appalled and more than a little angry. Muttering furiously to herself, she stalked off to the room they had delivered the child in. To her surprise, Irma Black was sitting up, drinking a strengthening potion with the help of one of the girls. When she walked in with the baby, the woman gave a soft cry and held her arms out for the child. _Finally,_ thought the midwife as she handed over the baby to her. Irma cradled it to her chest, smiling down at it. Her smile was strained though and when she looked up at the midwife, she looked almost apologetic.

"You probably had to wander a bit to find someone to take him. And probably heard a few unkind words as well."

The midwife looked up, surprised. Irma had never shown her any kind of acknowledgement, let alone any kindness after the birthing of her other two children. Knowing this, the midwife stammered as she answered, "W-well, I... not really... I mean, I suppose your husband was busy..."

Irma gave a dry chuckle and said, "My husband? Oh dear, you must have had quite a hard time then. Don't worry yourself though... Behind the doors to this expensive manor lies a completely different world. No outsider can ever understand it..." she spoke with a far-off look in her eyes and then added softly, "Even I haven't been able to, after so many years..."

The midwife looked at the lady of the manor with an apprehensive look. She was no great looker - her strong jaw and plaintive hair, especially when compared to her daughter's, made her so. The eyes were beautiful enough though, a soft blue, marred only by the pain the midwife and her girls had just been given a glimpse into.

The midwife almost reached out a comforting hand to the mother, then stopped herself. No, these were still the rich, arrogant purebloods and they guarded their problems as jealously as they did their secrets. It would not do well for her to overstep the boundaries that were so carefully set in current society.

She cleared her throat slightly and Irma looked up, mask and cold facade back in place.

"Ah, yes. Your payment. A house-elf is waiting by the door with it."

The girls looked unnerved by the sudden change in her attitude but the old midwife had seen the world and then some, and was relieved that she hadn't tried to pry any further before. She merely nodded and gave a slight bow and the girls, after curtseying, followed her out.

Before she left though, even her old heart could not save her from turning back and looking at the mother and child once more. Then, most certainly overstepping the boundaries, she asked, "What will you name him?"

Irma looked up at her, expressionless. "He is to be called Cygnus Black the Third after his paternal grandfather."

_Of course_, thought the midwife, inclining her head slightly and turning away. Of course they were the type of family to flaunt their heritage with titles such as 'the Third'. She fleetingly wondered whether the woman had had any choice in the name of her son.

Sighing, she motioned the girls onward with a nod where they had stopped for her. As she received her payments and walked the long winding path that was strewn with autumn leaves, she could not help but shiver a little from the atmosphere around the mansion.

Far from celebrating the birth of a son, it seemed as though the tall shrivelling trees and the powerful old mansion mourned something terrible instead.

xxx

_October 31st, 1940 - Hogwarts_

_She sat imperiously, a small smile on her chiseled face, talking quietly with the other students around her. He came and sat down across from her, willing her to look up at him and meet his eyes. Feeling the burning gaze, she looked up, smile gone and eyes cold. His eyes showed warning that what he'd been dreading had happened. Leaning forward slightly, she looked around the table, both sides, a smile back on her face as she greeted those who caught her eye. He waited impatiently for her inspection. She finally leaned back, looked at him and with a slight shrug of her shoulders, dismissed his worries. He grit his teeth and looked up at the bewitched, dark ceiling that showed the sky outside, stomach slightly clenching. He was missing... their youngest brother._

"Well go on then, Black. Not scared, are you?"

The loud, raucous laughter echoed off the tall twisted trees and the creatures within their depths stirred, the otherwise quiet whisper of their movements swelling.

"S-sit tight till the morning then...we'll come for you at sunrise," the speaker was a thickset boy of fourteen, his face hooded except for slits through which his eyes could be seen. The eyes were darting around in fear, feet already moving back from the outskirts of the Forbidden Forest.

"Or whatever's left of you at least," sniggered his braver friend, who was holding his wand pointing straight at another boy, smaller and younger than two of them.

"May the creatures have no mercy on you," he spat and Cygnus watched the two retreat, hands forming fists in anger and fear.

It was a cold night and the shadows and mist hung low to the ground, swirling around his legs. Turning away from the tempting view of the castle, Cygnus stood facing the entrance of the silent forest. He just had to last the night. If he did, he would never be bothered again, never be made a scapegoat for his dear brother and sister.

The absolute blame for his predicament rested with them of course. Why else would two fourth-years kidnap him from his dormitory and then place a spell on him that made it impossible for him to return before dawn? Their attempts to exact revenge by endangering him were futile though, as they were probably finding out at this moment. Walburga would never lift her painted fingers to save him. Alphard might have but under her influence, he was rendered just as useless as well.

Cygnus looked around the forest with distaste. He needed a place to hide. Some small alcove where he could pass the night. He then spotted an old tree whose branches sagged to the ground, easy enough for him to climb. Checking around quickly for any unfriendly prowlers, Cygnus settled in between two branches. It wasn't the least bit comfortable but it felt safer than being on ground, unprotected.

Mouth set into a hard line and nails digging into his palms, Cygnus sat casting a wary gaze around him every now and then, ears perking at every little sound. The more he listened, the more the earlier silence of the forest seemed non-existent. Branches creaked above him, twigs snapped ominously and tiny feet scampered here and there, their owners invisible in the mist. The darkness was oppressing and even for Cygnus, who'd seen similar darkness in the corners of the old mansion set in the countryside, this darkness seemed dangerous and wild.

Sometime along the journey of the bright moon through the night sky, Cygnus fell into a doze, vigilance slipping...

He then awoke with a start, he could not tell how much time after, heart thumping wildly. He looked around frantically, searching for what had awoken him. Suddenly, he grew still, fear clawing at in the pits of his stomach. There was a loud hiss circling the tree where he still sat, growing louder by the second. He shivered as he saw the mist, which looked as though it was churning, cloaking the forest and making it impossible to see in any direction.

As the hissing grew louder still, Cygnus jumped off the tree, falling on his knees. Without a care to his bleeding kneecaps and scraped hands, he started to run with not a clue of the direction, keen to get away from insistent hissing and the rustle of dead leaves that now surrounded it.

He did not know how far he ran, occasionally stumbling and hurting himself. He looked back constantly over his shoulder but the hiss followed unceasingly.

"Arghhhhh..."

A cry escaped his lips as he fell onto his front, tripping over a root. Shutting his eyes tight for the bite of the snake he knew was sure to kill him, Cygnus waited, panting and praying to no one... only loathing his family and of how he would never, in a million years, be missed.

Then, a different hiss. Almost... human? A chuckle came next and then some more of the human hissing. Then, the menacing hiss that had followed him before suddenly came to a stop. Taking a deep breath, Cygnus slowly raised his head off of the cold ground and was surprised to find... a boy. A boy that looked no older than fourteen or fifteen, with dark hair and a face with sunken cheeks. He looked as handsome as any Black.

Cygnus scrambled to his feet and looked around him. There was no trace of any snake and even the mist seemed to have died down a little. Looking back at his saviour, Cygnus openly stared, before saying disbelievingly, "You... saved my life."

The boy gave a nod and said, "This forest is no place for a first-year, Cygnus Black... Especially on Hallows Eve..." His words were contradicted by his gaze though, which flitted about the misty forest with an almost fond look.

"You're a Parselmouth. And you know my name."

"I am," said the boy, a tad gravely. "As for your name, you are quite famous and I happen to be, ah... acquainted with your charming sister, Walburga."

An angry flush crept upon Cygnus' face as he thought of his sister, but his voice was calm when he spoke next.

"Why are you here? In the forest, I mean."

"This forest is a favourite haunt of mine, you could say. I come here often... it helps me think," he said with a smirk.

"The snake... What did you say to it?"

"I asked her why she was following you," he said and Cygnus could hear the laughter behind his words, "she said it was rare for as beautiful a boy as you to come to her lair, especially tonight. She could hardly pass you up."

Cygnus flushed at the boy's words and asked, "Then why did she?"

"Only because I asked her to."

Although he would have liked to ask why the boy did so, he didn't. Something told him he wouldn't get a straight answer anyway. Instead he began, "I still have to stay here, until-"

"Dawn. I know. I also know the names of those who have put the spell on you. It's been rather enjoyable, watching the whole affair."

Another smirk. Cygnus was liking his saviour less and less as he caught onto the obvious attempt to bait him.

"What do you want in return? For saving me and for the names."

"You're a smart one, Cygnus, quick to catch on. I require only one thing in return. Your word."

"My word for what?"

"That one day, when I ask you to honour this debt, you will," He spoke calmly, eyes fixated on Cygnus' blue ones.

Needless to say, Cygnus was perplexed. From what he'd started dreaming up in the span of a few seconds, what the boy had actually asked for was a far cry. There was no denying that the condition was odd though and Cygnus wondered his motives. Still, he reasoned, he owed the boy whatever he wanted and there was no choice for him but to say yes, motive or not.

"Alright," Cygnus said stiffly, holding out his hand for the other boy to shake

Tom reached out and shook the boy's hand, a gentle throb of magic running between their fingers. It wasn't anywhere near an Unbreakable or an Oath, but it was a magical acknowledgement. Cygnus Black and Tom Riddle had struck a deal.

Tom gave another smirk before releasing his hand and saying, "I'm Tom Riddle, by the way."

Cygnus merely nodded...he'd heard of him even if nobody really knew him, except that he was an orphan, a Muggleborn or more likely a Half-blood. He was a third year Slytherin, but he already had some kind of influence in the house of snakes. It was of no consequence to Cygnus, however, as from now on, Tom Riddle would always be a mystery to him and a burden.

"Enjoy your stay in the forest then," Riddle said, letting go of his hand, "I suppose you'll be seeing me sometime in the future... Be careful not to wander off the path. Once you are able to leave, continue walking north-west and you'll find yourself on the outskirts of the forest near the lake."

Cygnus nodded again and then, with a quick wave to him, Riddle disappeared into the shadows, leaving him alone once again.

* * *

**Announcement**: here it is; the first chapter. For the largest part it's still a creation of the excellent writer **TheMuser**; my creation will be shown in the second chapter as the story takes an abrupt turn.


	2. Chapter Two

_September 8th, 1942_

Autumn had arrived early this year.

Even if it was only the beginning of September, many leaves had already fallen and the wintry weather forced students to cast warming spells even more frequently than usual. For Minerva McGonagall, however, it made things all the more exciting. Soon the mountains around the school would become icy and there would be frost on the ground, which in Hogwarts always meant the beginning of the Quidditch season. Minerva smiled to herself as she thought about numerous new tactics that she was itching to try out, yet studies had to come first.

It was therefore that she was currently feverishly revising the first chapter of 'Advanced Potion Brewing'. Minerva was actually fairly good at Potions. Regardless of the potion they had to brew, hers would always have the exact smell, color and texture as described in the book. It wasn't that she had affinity for potions; on the contrary, her success laid indisputably in hard work and prior preparation. It was for this sole reason that it seemed extremely unfair to her when professors had some other criteria when it came to grading. It was as if her efforts were never really appreciated, as if it all came down to image or prejudice and not objectivity… Still Minerva McGonagall would not be discouraged; if there was anything she believed in then it was the courage to stand up for oneself and prove others wrong.

The lesson had finally started and Minerva listened as Slughorn introduced them to their upcoming NEWTs. The rest of the Gryffindors listened with rapt attention while Slytherins seemed to be more relaxed. To her amazement Riddle was also present even though he had come to Hogwarts a year later and was only in his fifth year. At the same time, everybody acknowledged that Riddle was a genius, so perhaps it wasn't all that strange that he had been allowed to take advanced classes.

"I thought I'd challenge you all today," Slughorn announced, his eyes twinkling almost as madly as Professor Dumbledore's. "If you have already skimmed through your copies of 'Advanced Potion Brewing' then you know that we ought to start with the Draught of Living Death."

There were some affirmative nods and murmurs among the students.

"Can anyone tell me what the effects of this potion are?" Slughorn continued, looking expectedly around him.

Minerva's hand shot up. "The Draught of Living Death is an extremely powerful sleeping draught; it sends the drinker into a death-like slumber."

"Correct, as always. Take five well-earned points for Gryffindor, Miss McGonagall."

The rest of the Gryffindors smiled enthusiastically at Minerva, while the girl herself stole another quick glance at Riddle; he seemed completely relaxed, a bit bored even, as though the class wasn't challenging at all.

"Now, can anyone tell me which potion can reverse the effects of the Draught of Living Death?"

Minerva knew the answer to this one as well, so she promptly lifted her hand again, momentarily forgetting about Riddle.

"Yes?" Slughorn prompted.

"Wiggenweld Potion, Sir."

"Exactly," Slughorn boomed happily, "And this is the potion that you will be brewing today."

Slughorn continued talking about the potions and briefly explained the key points that should be kept in mind while brewing it. There were also some rewards involved, as usual, but Minerva couldn't bring herself to be too enthusiastic. She had started to develop a foreboding feeling that perhaps it wouldn't going to be such a great lesson after all, especially when she was paired up with Riddle.

Minerva couldn't quite place why she disliked him so much. Of course, he was mostly the reason why Slytherin scored better than Gryffindor, but it was still more than just house rivalry… After all, Alphard Black was the Slytherin Quidditch captain and while she disliked him as well, it still wasn't the same kind of dislike she felt for Riddle. Or was she just being childish? Yet on the other hand, it seemed simply unfair that Riddle was at the top of everything without even trying, while she had to work hard – was it really that much to ask to appreciate her hard work?

"Hello Minerva."

Riddle's velvety voice brought Minerva once again out of her reverie. Minerva merely replied him with a polite nod, while tracing the right page in her textbook. She refused to have anything more to do with Riddle than she was forced to under the circumstances.

"We're missing several ingredients; I have to go and fetch them," Minerva commented absently. "If I had known that we were going to brew a different potion, I'd have had everything ready."

"Oh, but we have everything," Riddle intervened.

Minerva stared at him momentarily forgetting the frostiness…_Surely, he couldn't have known…but how else?_

"Think of it as one of Quidditch tactics," Riddle elaborated. "When you want the opposite team to think you've spotted the snitch, you dive, while in reality you just want to mislead them."

"I don't see how it has anything to do with Potions, Riddle." Minerva replied with a renewed frostiness.

"Simple, Professor Slughorn let everyone to believe the obvious, while planning a completely different lesson. In this way he will see who is able to think on their feet without any preparation. It's a test that he has set up to sort out more capable students."

Riddle smiled at her. He was tall, handsome, with pale skin, jet black hair, and dark eyes. He was also an extremely gifted wizard and a newly appointed Slytherin prefect. Half of the witches in the school had a crush on him, not that he cared, and as much as Minerva would rather be denying it, he looked more handsome than she ever remembered. This fact did by no means prevent the girl from glaring at him.

"You don't seem to be surprised," Minerva supplied, trying not to sound accusatory. "Were you aware that the professor would come up with something like this?"

"No, I wasn't aware, but knowing Professor Slughorn I suspected that he would come up with something," he replied, still smiling.

"And by suspecting you mean tricking the professor into telling you more information regarding the lessons than he should have."

"Why, Minerva, you sound almost as if you were accusing me of cheating whereas all I'm trying to do is to help," Riddle's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Why are you being like that, by the way? Have I offended you?"

Now there was also a hurt note in his voice and Minerva knew that in her impulsiveness she had crossed the line. Yes, having perfect results was important for her; she had her own reasons why, but how could have Tom Riddle known it? It wasn't his fault. He truly was smart and he also studied a lot. Moreover, she had seen herself how Riddle tutored a whole group of Slytherins. Several students owed their success to him.

"I'm sorry, Riddle—I mean Tom," she stammered, "I overreacted…I…I just really wanted to brew Draught of Living Death instead of Wiggenweld."

"Is that it?" Riddle questioned. His tone, she noted, became somewhat friendlier. "I could help. I could ask the Professor arrange something, I'm sure he will be glad that students show such enthusiasm…"

"I'd rather focus on the current potion for now, if you don't mind," Minerva cut in rather crossly.

"Of course," Riddle conceded, leaving her alone at once.

They continued to work in silence. Minerva tried to concentrate solely on her potion, yet try as she might, she simply didn't seem to be making any progress. She suddenly felt a gentle wave of panic engulf her. The fact that she had prepared in advance was only disturbing her now as she kept thinking about the steps that were necessary for the other potion.

"Do you need help?" Riddle inquired after a while. Minerva duly noted that he was already done with most of the preparations; Chizpurfle fangs were already powdered and a little glass jar with Flobberworm mucus was at the ready. This fact only served to make the girl even angrier.

"No, thank you," she snapped.

"Well, in that case could you please stew the Mandrake?" Riddle asked her, apparently not taking any offence at her unfriendly tone.

With a start, Minerva realized that they had been paired up for a reason; the potion was pretty difficult, there were many ingredients to prepare and one person would never have time to get it ready…but she was completely useless…without the beforehand preparation she wasn't sure in which order the ingredients had to be supplied and at which temperature the potion had to be brewed—and worst of all, there was simply no time to start reading up on all the additional qualities that the ingredients would acquire in given combination….

"Minerva, what's wrong?"

Minerva's breath seemed to be caught up as she suddenly found herself very close to Riddle. The boy had leaned forward, his eyes full of genuine concern.

"Nothing…I…it's just that…well, I haven't read about all the properties of the Horklump juice…it's not written here, so I'm not sure in which order we should add it. If I remember correctly it can go to gaseous state if the temperature is increased abruptly and then it's useless…should that be the case we would need to start all over again…."

For some reason, she simply couldn't stop her rant and her face started heating up in embarrassment. Why would this boy's proximity have such an impact on her? She didn't even like him; he was arrogant, stuck-up, conceited…

"Minerva, look, you tend to overthink everything. You thought we were going to brew the Draught of the Living Death. Well, take a look at the most important ingredient used in that potion: it's the Asphodel root, correct?"

Minerva nodded absently, feeling slightly reassured.

"Now, what makes that potion dangerous is actually a Sophophorous Bean, which is an extremely powerful sedative – now in Wiggenweld Potion we need to achieve the contrary effects, therefore we first take a primary reactant; the very same Asphodel root, but we will add ingredients that have strong healing properties instead: Shredded dittany, Wiggentree bark, Unicorn horn and stewed Mandrake. All the side ingredients such as Honeywater, Chizpurfle fangs, Flobberworm mucus and the others only act as reactants to either speed up or slow down the brewing process when necessary. As a result we will have a potion with the same key ingredient with a different purpose."

He was right; it was easy once you understood that the whole reaction was still connected to the one and only key ingredient.

Minerva stared at Riddle who simply smiled in return. She knew that she ought to thank him, but instead her Gryffindor pride won over and she resumed working, giving Riddle only a quick nod now that she understood how to continue.

"It still doesn't explain how you knew that we were going to brew a different potion," Minerva blurted out, unable to stop herself, "and regardless of how you knew about it, it's still unfair because it immediately puts the rest of us at a disadvantage..."

"Which, according to you is cheating," Riddle finished for her.

"Well, yes," Minerva said, somehow feeling embarrassed but forcing herself to meet his eyes.

He didn't look abashed or guilty; on the contrary, he seemed to be _enjoying himself?_

"And it never occurred to you that I might have been preparing for this lesson just as much as you have or even more so?" he asked absently, probably not even expecting her to answer.

Minerva was unable to reply at this point and lowered her gaze. Tom Riddle must have done the same because what happened next caught her completely off-guard.

"You're holding the knife in the wrong way," he said softly. "Here, let me show you."

Minerva's breath seemed to stop as Riddle took her hand in his. The unexpected physical contact sent shivers down her spine. It felt pleasant, Riddle's presence was intoxicating and he had most entrancing voice as he whispered the instructions in her ear like that. She felt she could have simply drown in those mysterious dark eyes….

"FINE! Do it yourself then!" she bellowed, forcefully distancing herself.

It was about the worst decision she could have made. Somehow she had managed to slip and although Riddle managed to catch her on pure instinct before she landed head-first in the cauldron, the knife that she—or Riddle?—had been holding slipped out of her hand and the next thing she heard was a shriek of pain from a fellow student. The knife must have bounced off of something and hit someone.

Slughorn rushed forward to examine the damage. There was a great deal of confusion and to her utter horror, Doris, her fellow Gryffindor was holding her palm on her left cheek, blood dripping from in between her fingers.

Luckily the wound was not serious and was quickly healed, but it didn't change the fact that it was her terribly immature behaviour that had been the cause of everything. And worst of all, there was no justification for her actions.

The perfect beginning of the year was now completely ruined. Minerva couldn't even recall the last time she had felt so utterly ashamed of herself.

So overwhelming was Minerva's embarrassment and dismay, she never saw Alphard Black slightly shaking his head in disbelief.

xxx

_February 12th, 1943_

"_Minerva, would you like to do the honors?" Ignatius asked her._

"_Of course," Minerva replied, "Now listen up, everyone! Playing against Slytherin is different than playing against Ravenclaw. Ravenclaw is relying too much on individual players whilst Slytherin employs the tactic of separation. I've been observing their match against Hufflepuff and the tactics they used against them were exactly the same as they used against us. Slytherins are excellent strategists; they divide us and then they score. First, they take out our beaters by convincingly occupying them elsewhere and then they block our chasers while their chasers score. The reason why they're always managing to do so simultaneously before the opposite team can react is because they have learned how to work as a team—and this is what we lack. Now, I've been thinking, we need some kind of system of signs, so that we could warn each other…"_

_Minerva was about to start explaining about the secret signs that she had been working on, when everyone's attention was suddenly caught by rushing footsteps of Esther Price._

"_Minerva, you…you have to see this," she panted, "I didn't know whom to call…it's on the wall…"_

_The whole team suddenly understood that something was wrong. Luckily, Ignatius took over the training while Minerva rushed to the castle._

_This was when it had all begun._

The months went by and Hogwarts seemed to have fallen into a dull regime of fear and terror. The students were now being escorted to their classes, nobody laughed or joked in the halls anymore and the curfew rule seemed to have acquired a whole new level.

_As if the depressing news about Grindelwald's terror wasn't enough,_ Minerva thought heavily, casting the newspaper aside.

"If it makes you feel better, you don't seem to be the only one who's not happy about Quidditch being cancelled, "Ignatius spoke up.

"I know, you too."

"Well, yes, although I wasn't speaking about myself."

"Eh?"

"Look at Black," Ignatius said, inclining his head towards the Slytherin table.

"Which one of them?" Minerva asked somewhat tartly.

"Snake captain."

Minerva turned around. Indeed, Alphard Black was wearing the same kind of expression that his dear sister usually wore; as if there was something smelly under his nose. It was strange because he was the one usually laughing and joking around – whether just pretending to be as easygoing or not, but always smiling. Not now though. Now it seemed that the roles had been reversed and it was Walburga who seemed happy.

Alphard lifted his gaze and Minerva quickly turned away, not wanting to be caught staring.

"You know why she's so happy, don't you? " Esther asked, also staring at the Slytherin table.

Esther was also Minerva's friend and a fellow Gryffindor, very much like Ignatius. It was because of that that she had rushed to fetch Minerva as soon as she discovered the Heir's threat on the wall and the truth was that Minerva felt very touched at the thought that her friend had decided to call her instead of a professor. It really showed the strength of their friendship.

"Don't start again," Minerva pleaded, not wanting Esther to recall that night.

Those discussions were giving her a headache. They weren't of any use. They had been through all of it about a million times already.

"You didn't see her," Esther retorted, "that smile on her face…it was…it was _evil_…"

Esther shuddered as she thought about that night.

"Esther," Minerva tried, "Walburga Black is not the Heir of Slytherin."

"No, I believe the correct term would be "the Heiress", considering her gender." Esther returned coldly, not willing to let it go.

"I know she's not nice," Minerva started, but immediately corrected herself as Esther and Ignatius both snorted at her understatement. "Alright, we all know that she's downright horrid, but how could she be the Heiress of Slytherin? Think what you're talking about."

"Maybe Estie's right though," Ignatius intervened, even though he sounded skeptical himself, "I'm not saying that it's her, but it may be one of the Blacks. They are the most ancient Pureblood family out there and some believe that they descend indeed from Salazar Slytherin himself."

"You have a point…" Minerva said pensively, thinking it over.

"The question is how we are going to catch the culprit? We can split up. I'll tail Alphard, you tail the hag and Ignatius the youngest - what's his name?" Esther suggested, looking around at them for support. "Perhaps it's really not Walburga, but trust me she must know something. Or maybe others do. She was ecstatic when she saw that writing on the wall. You know how scary she can be…well…"

Esther's voice was now almost a whisper.

"That snobbish bored look that she usually has, it was suddenly gone, but it was replaced with a fanatical glow…it..wasn't a pretty sight," she finished somewhat lamely.

"Yes, I know, but Esther, it might have been just because she truly believes in…in her own superiority and the same goes for the rest of them."

Minerva had wanted to say 'superiority of the Pure-bloods', but stopped herself at the last moment. The topic tended to sadden Ester, being a Muggle-born she had suffered various insults during all her Hogwarts years and now she was also among the ones who were being targeted by the Heir, whoever he was.

"I mean, according to the legend the heir of Slytherin must purge the school of those who are unworthy, which technically means…well, _murder_…there is no way that either of them is capable…you know...of...of _that,_" Minerva pressed on.

She looked back at Esther and Ignatius, neither of whom wanted either confirm or contradict her statement. Minerva had a feeling that the reason behind the silence was simply the fact that they disagreed, but didn't want to argue.

Minerva sighed and went absently to her breakfast—only to accidentally spit a mouthful of coffee on her lap.

"Merlin's beard, I have to go! I have to escort the second years to Herbology."

Minerva quickly got up and hurried over to the second years, who had all been informed that they were not to go anywhere without one of the prefects. Minerva felt truly sorry for them; this Slytherin monster business was ruining their most important impressions about Hogwarts and as much as she would have wanted to console them and tell them that Hogwarts wasn't all that _dark_ at all, it simply didn't seem to be true in this environment.

With a heavy heart she finished her escorting duty and was about to go to Transfiguration when something suddenly caught her attention. There was someone just around the corner.

A student. Alone. Without a prefect or a teacher to accompany him or her. Such disregard for the rules was simply outrageous. And if the Slytherin monster was about to attack just now? No, she'd have a word with that student!

She quickened her pace, full of fury...

"Stay right there!" she shouted, finally close enough.

"Actually, it's you who should stay, Miss McGonagall. We need to talk."

xxx

"Black?"

"Yes, I believe that is indeed my last name." Alphard agreed, his smile widening.

Gryffindors were so funny to observe. They were hardly ever capable of concealing their emotions and McGonagall wasn't any different, her facial expressions morphing from fury to utter surprise mixed with fear.

"You know, I've never had a chance to compliment you on your progress with the team. I must confess, you do seem to have talent and Gryffindor might've even have stood a chance this year if it wasn't for _these unfortunate circumstances_."

He sighed.

The girl still gaped at him, her green eyes wide and her lips slightly parted, and he had a feeling that she had barely registered his words. Thankfully, she pulled herself together after a moment.

"Students are not allowed to walk alone these days, unless there's a permission form signed by an authority figure. I assume you understand the necessity of these measures? Do you happen to have permission?" she demanded.

Alphard tried his best to pull off a pensive look before going back to his relaxed manner, "I don't think I do," he answered, "but let us not be bothered by this."

"Excuse me? Rules apply to everyone, even prefects. Now, I suggest you follow me, so that I could sign you over to your sister or Professor Slughorn. As Head Girl and Slytherin Head of the House respectively, they are the only ones who are authorized to deal with those Slytherin students who are apparently unable to follow the rules."

That was too much. He couldn't take it anymore; he burst out laughing.

"_Seriously_… can you imagine this meeting any more awkward with my dear sister and old Sluggy around?"

"He's not…"

But she had probably started to object acting purely on reflex for she stopped abruptly a moment later, as if having remembered whom she was speaking with.

"Enough. There's not much time," Alphard said, all traces of humour suddenly gone.

This time he actually managed to frighten the girl into backing away about half a pace and tightening her grip around her wand. Damn it, he should have been more careful; such apparent mood swings tended to frighten those who weren't accustomed to the Blacks. He needed to amend the situation now, so he changed his pose, making sure not to appear in any way aggressive, his hands away from his wand. Then he flashed her an encouraging smile.

"I'm sorry…It's just that…I doubt that you'd really want to have my sister here and honestly, we might never have such an opportunity again... which is why I need to tell you this: _Look out for yourself and don't go prying where it's uncalled for."_

That certainly got her attention.

"W-what?" she managed to croak out.

"You heard me and if you're smart, you will take my advice, that's all. Now if you'll excuse me."

Alphard knew that it would be the only moment for him to leave before McGonagall would shake off her stupor and start pestering him with countless questions. It was safe to leave her like that, for she would be heading back to the castle anyway.

Speaking of which, he had to be careful not to be seen entering the castle more or less at the same time as she would. The walls of this castle had eyes and ears everywhere.

Alphard cast Disillusionment charm on himself and started walking carefully towards the castle, choosing the longest way that he knew of. It was only logical as McGonagall would no doubt choose the shortest way as she still needed to get to class.

On his way back he made sure to cover his tracks and think of a convenient excuse should someone ask about his whereabouts.

It was therefore a bit of a shock that when he finally reached his dorm and removed the Disillusionment charm, he found himself face to face with his brother Cygnus who had obviously been expecting him.

* * *

**Author's note: **And the plot takes an abrupt turn. Thank you, dear readers, for your time. Please review.

All recognizable characters belong rightfully to JKR.


	3. Chapter Three

It was clear that Cygnus had heard everything—and by the looks of it he was furious.

Alphard had barely climbed in through the entrance behind the stone wall in the cellars before his younger brother rounded on him.

"What the hell have you been thinking?"

"Not here, Cyg, let's go upstairs."

They quickly ascended the stairs. Once they reached the sixth year boys dorm, Alphard quickly cast the privacy charms.

"Look, I know what I'm doing."

"Do you?" Cygnus asked skeptically.

"Yeah, I do. I figured I'd give her a scare—so that she and her friends wouldn't go looking for the Heir. I happened to overhear them earlier—apparently they think it's our sister. Can you believe it? They were discussing the possibility to sneak into our Common Room to find some 'evidence'—pathetic. Hopefully, McGonagall—who at least seems sensible—will try to talk the Mudblood and the Moron out of it."

"Pathetic…" Cygnus repeated slowly, "D'you know what's 'pathetic'? Your whole infatuation with McGonagall is 'pathetic'…the way you seem to think that 'common sense' is something that can be applied to those idiots is 'pathetic'…the fact that you never once considered possible consequences of your action is 'pathetic'…"

He was promptly hit a mild Stinging Hex from Alphard.

"Relax, what's wrong with you?"

Cygnus absently rubbed his arm in the place where the hex had hit him and glared daggers at his brother. It struck Alphard how _young _his brother looked when he was throwing a tantrum. It was too difficult—he'd never been good with children. He almost felt tempted to call Walburga to put the child in his place.

"Idiot, you have no idea what you've done!"

Cygnus seemed to have finally regained his voice—along with his bad temper.

"Pray tell, what I have done then? Isn't it a good thing that I suggested McGonagall not to pry?"

"You've fuelled her curiosity. Now they will definitely start to investigate—or worse—tell Dumbledore."

_Shit! That much was true—he hadn't thought about that. Should Cyg's prediction come true, the ginger Transfiguration teacher would definitely look into that. He had to amend the situation—or at least take some extra precautions. But how? Knowing the Gryffindor Head of the House, Alphard didn't think that the latter would do something drastic about it—he'd probably ask Alphard to stay behind after class and ask him a couple of questions—would his Occlumency be strong enough to block Albus Dumbledore? He'd have to write to Aunt Cassiopeia immediately._

"I'm sorry, Cyg—for not having consulted with you and also for having hexed you. I'll think what I can do about it, agreed?"

Cygnus still looked dour—he didn't even reply.

"What is it?" Alphard asked, annoyed.

"Nothing—it's just that…whatever happens, it's your own damn fault."

And with that his baby brother stormed out of the room.

Now that was just _wonderful_...Quidditch cancelled, parties cancelled, new 'precaution' rules driving everyone crazy and now his baby brother acting as if he had just kicked his favourite puppy..._Was Cygnus right though? Would his today's action have really severe consequences? Why did Cyg seem to think so? Somehow Alphard didn't really agree...even if Minerva went to Dumbledore, he'd deny the whole thing...or tell the ginger fool that he'd been just joking around...What would Dumbledore do anyway? Make him write lines? Force him to wear his ridiculous purple robes? Well, that would have been actually one hell of a punishment, that much was true. But come on! It wasn't like anyone had actually died...This whole bloody 'Chamber' was nothing more than mass-hysteria...and if anyone would know, then it would members of Riddle Club and so far there hasn't been anything to worry about...Sure, Tom asked for 'discretion' when it came to discussing Chamber with anyone, but who the hell cared? It wasn't like he had discussed the Chamber with Minerva. On the other hand, it was very unlike Cygnus to lose his composure like that..._There was obviously something that he wasn't telling Alphard...Well, he had to wait and see what would happen next.

Damn it_—_not knowing was infuriating. Everything in this damn castle was infuriating!

xxx

_She was walking through the empty halls of Hogwarts, having once again the peculiar sensation that someone was following her. Occasional torches were creating an eerie flickering light in the darkness. It was surreal how uncannily frightening Hogwarts seemed at night. The wind gushed through the ancient stone walls producing distant wailing sounds… Her breath hitched and pace quickened, her dark hair, usually kept in a bun, whisking around her face and obscuring her vision. She turned abruptly to shake off her pursuer and something silver flashed before her eyes. A snowy white owl hooted in a distance. Instinctively, she followed the sound. It was a tempestuous yet sternly beautiful night… and there on the stone cold floor there was—Esther? Her complexion was ghostly bluish and she was immobile… dead. An irrepressible terror gradually pervaded her frame as she stared at the corpse… "But I told you," the velvety voice gently whispered in her ear, "don't go prying where it's uncalled for."_

With a start Minerva woke up. She was sweating, her heart still beating fast with fright. The lightning briefly illuminated the room. It was the thunder that had woken her up. Minerva looked hastily around. Esther was right there, soundly asleep. Nothing had happened. It was just a stupid dream.

After a few minutes sitting in the darkness, Minerva started feeling cold and threw the blanket over her shoulders. It suddenly struck her how _safe_ Gryffindor Tower was. It wasn't only the interior design which made Gryffindor so special, although the squashy armchairs downstairs were, in Minerva's opinion, very cosy and inviting. It wasn't the ever-blazing fire burning merrily in the fireplaces or the predominant gold and red House colours, which created the nice feeling of warmth; it were Gryffindors themselves. They didn't seem to have any tensions among each other, any dislike, _hatred_… but somewhere that wasn't the case. Somewhere in this wonderful castle there was a person who _hated_ certain students, deemed them unworthy, threatened them, terrorized them, attacked them… A shiver ran through her spine. She simply couldn't forget Black's words. _What had he meant by that? _She had kept the conversation she had had with him a few days ago to herself, but maybe it was time to share everything with Ignatius and Esther.

It was still very early though and there was no point in waking Esther up; she'd tell her and Ignatius in the morning. The storm outside wouldn't subside, the heavy curtain of rain preventing anyone from seeing anything of what was happening on the grounds that night. Even if Minerva had happened to look outside at that precise moment, she still wouldn't have seen the dark silhouette returning to the castle.

xxx

_February 14th, 1943_

The morning had finally arrived. The grounds were littered with debris. Clearly the storm had been quite powerful. Today at least it didn't rain, although the weather was dull and grey and didn't help against feeling sleepy at all. Especially after the sleepless night that Minerva had.

She had just reached the door of the Charms classroom but remained standing where she was, thinking that she must have come through the wrong door.

The Charms classroom had completely changed.

Tiny hearts of all sizes were flying around the classroom like some bizarre little birds, bouquets of roses stood at every table and everyone was throwing confetti at each other.

Minerva had to blink twice to make sure she wasn't dreaming. It wasn't before she heard Ignatius yell "over here" that she moved forward and joined the two of them.

"What on earth happened?" she asked.

"Apparently, Professor Lioht decided to bring some colours into our monotonously grey and dull days," Ignatius explained, "I'd say she's overdone it."

"You're being a tad unfair, Ignatius," Esther chided, "The roses might have been an exaggeration, but the whole idea of Valentine projects is an amazing learning opportunity. We have the opportunity to decide for ourselves what we want to do."

"Valentine projects?" Minerva questioned.

"Well, yes; go pick something for yourself as well. The idea is to surprise your friends with a magical gift and get a mark for it. The only condition is to charm your gift. I know that Olive Hornby's boyfriend gave her charmed earrings, which will trigger something of a shield charm around her head should someone throw something at her."

Minerva snorted, "Oh, please; as if she's the one who needs those earrings to protect her. I know her well enough, and she's a bully if I ever met one – do you know how she insulted Myrtle Elance the other day? Poor Myrtle ran away crying. The least I could do was to take some points off of the Ravenclaw for shouting in a corridor."

"I know," Esther agreed. "Ravenclaw is famous for bullying. At least the Slytherins put up a united front."

"Never mind that," Ignatius suddenly intervened. "Do you know what I heard this morning? Slytherin House seems to have finally lost some points as well. Not much, but at least something."

Ignatius looked positively delighted at the thought of Slytherin losing points.

"What happened?" Esther questioned, dragging him down from the clouds.

"From what I heard Riddle had to take off some points because Alphard Black was discovered drinking Firewhiskey in the common room or something. Well, that's not allowed."

"What on earth was he thinking? … He could get expelled for that."

"Nah, they wouldn't expel a Black. He didn't even get a detention from what I heard… Isn't that great though? Snakes having bitten off their own tails for a change? I mean usually it's us who end up losing points..."

Minerva halted, tuning out their usual bickering. At the mention of Alphard Black she had suddenly remembered what she had to tell them. This was the moment. She looked around. Everybody around her was already busily working on their Valentine assignments, so it was safe to speak.

As soon as she picked her own assignment, she addressed both of them again.

"Actually, I have something to tell you – it's… it's about Alphard Black. Listen, we were alone in the forest and then he got all strange—for Godric's sake get those thoughts out of your heads, it wasn't anything like that—I was returning from my escorting duty when I spotted him standing all alone right at the edge of the forest and of course I had to tell him off, because it's not allowed and he told me…"

And so, more or less in one breath, she told Esther and Ignatius everything that had happened.

Once she was finished they both stared at her, wide-eyed.

Then Ignatius banged his fist.

"I knew it!"

"Hush, people are staring at us!"

That sobered him.

"Sorry… it's just**—**What was that if not a confession?"

"No, it was more like a warning than a confession…" Minerva pointed out, subconsciously trying to talk Ignatius out of whatever he was already planning.

"But this must mean that he knows who's behind it, for obviously what else could he have been on about if not the Chamber? I think it's safe for all of us to agree on that..." Esther reflected slowly.

"Just like I said then - a confession," Ignatius pressed, "Blacks are about the oldest pureblood family out there, there's no one else who could have been the Heir if not one of them."

"Hey, when I said that you didn't want to agree!" Esther accused, letting her hurt show.

"Well, last time we didn't have any proof…"

"We don't have any now either!"

"Yes, we do; guilty conscience and fear make people reckless. I'd say Black's losing his nerve - or maybe he's just a type of killer who warns his victim before he strikes. Hey, what if that was a threat? What if he's after Minerva?"

"You're thinking too much into this. He can be terrified of the Heir himself and he's trying to warn us... because he doesn't dare to tell anyone else."

"Oh, please, do you even realize how absurd that sounds? _A Black terrified of the Heir of Slytherin and asking help from a Gryffindor_?"

"Guys, stop it!" Minerva ordered finally.

Esther and Ignatius promptly stopped the shouting match they had been carrying out in whispers.

"You're right, I'm sorry," Esther said after a while, "what are you going to do about it though – tell a teacher?"

"I don't know…"

"No, don't go to the teacher!" Ignatius all but yelled. "He'll say we're making that up because we hate him," Ignatius reasoned again. "What we need is solid evidence against him. And I have a plan…"

"No!"

Now it were the girls who shouted, causing some people to stare again at the trio.

"Is there a problem with the assignment?" Professor Lioht asked, suddenly nearing their table.

"No everything's fine, Professor," they chorused.

"Alright, if you need something, please call me and try not to speak so loud. You know that I don't mind talking in my class, but there is really no reason to shout."

They all nodded and pretended to be resuming their work. As soon as the Professor was out of earshot, Minerva leaned closer to the others once again.

"Please don't do anything yet, I'll figure something out… maybe… maybe I can use my prefect status."

This earned a laugh from Esther.

"Ooh, I think I know what the plan is. You're going to try to trick Tom Riddle into revealing some information, aren't you?"

"Well... sort of...," Minerva agreed, a faint blush creeping up her cheeks.

Esther suddenly started giggling, looking a lot more like herself from before the whole Chamber incident.

"No, I don't like him; on the contrary, I think he's conceited and dishonest and..."

"Sure, sure," Ester said, waving her off, "But if you are planning to reschedule your patrolling duties to be paired up with Riddle, let me give you a few tips."

Ignatius groaned: listening to two love-struck girls discussing the absolute perfection of that suck-up snake in the atmosphere of flying hearts, roses, confetti and candies was really the last thing he needed.

xxx

_May 8th, 1943_

May? Already? How was it even possible? Yet it was true. The trees were already fully-leafed, the grass was green and only occasional mist in the morning reminded the inhabitants of Hogwarts of an unusually cold year.

The mood inside the castle was also a great deal brighter and it was both because of the weather as well as due to the fact that the attacks seemed to have stopped.

It was, therefore, that a notification from Professor Dumbledore that her next patrolling session was scheduled with none other than Tom Riddle came as a surprise to Minerva. Sure, she had tried to reschedule her patrolling sessions to match his right after the Valentine's Day, but she didn't succeed as Hogwarts was very strict about changing the rules and it was a long-standing tradition that Slytherin usually patrolled with Ravenclaw whist Gryffindor patrolled with Hufflepuff. Perhaps it was done so in order to avoid any conflicts. It made sense, considering the history of the Houses.

For some reason Minerva found herself dreading spending the whole evening with Riddle. She remembered her disastrous Potions lesson all too well and no matter how many times Ignatius joked about it trying to get her to see the humorous side of it or how many times Esther told her that "it could have happened to anybody", she still felt rather ashamed about it and there was no doubt that tonight she would embarrass herself even more.

Finally the evening came – and Minerva felt as if she was about to meet a fully grown Peruvian Vipertooth instead of the Slytherin Prefect.

Riddle – Tom – on the other hand, greeted her with a warm smile as if the Potions incident never happened. Maybe he didn't even remember anymore, it had been in the beginning of the year after all…

"It's the two of us tonight then, shall we start?"

"Y-yes, of course. Clearwater is ill…I don't know how you usually start…"

"We don't follow any strict routine…It depends, sometimes we check the ground floor first and then go elsewhere or the other way round."

"Oh-alright…then you can take the corridors downstairs and I'll go upstairs…" Minerva mumbled, already half turning to leave.

"All by yourself? Is my company really that disgusting? First, you refuse to be my Potions partner; now you're trying to flee to the other side of the castle… I'm beginning to wonder if I should be taking it personally."

His voice wasn't angry, she noted, with some relief. It was as if the phrase had been meant to be a half-joke.

_But he's right, _she thought, suddenly horror-struck at her awful behavior.

"It really seems that way, doesn't it?" she mumbled quietly, "I really didn't mean to leave such an impression… I'm sorry"

"Minerva, don't worry, I wasn't serious. You can go upstairs if you want…"

"No, no. I have to apologise. My behaviour was awful… still is, in fact, all you tried to do was to help me with my Potion and I accused you of cheating…"

"In that case I have to apologise too."

Minerva looked up at him. Something in his demeanour had changed.

"I should have left you alone. I obviously confused you instead of helping; you would have figured it out all by yourself if I hadn't gotten you off track… I'm sorry."

Minerva nodded. It was somehow easier now that they had apologised.

"Apology accepted," she said with a smile, "Well, shall we start with patrolling then? I suggest we start with the East Wing, near Professor Dumbledore's office. It's the easiest way. Then we'll able to cover most of the South Wing in the fastest way possible. That's what we always do with Diggory."

"Sure, no problem."

"Right…"

And so they started off. The silence stretched, though not an uncomfortable one. They could have continued patrolling in silence, but the opportunity was too perfect, Minerva suddenly thought; maybe there wouldn't be another chance like this…if Clearwater was released from the hospital wing for the next patrolling duty, she wouldn't be patrolling with Riddle again. Still, she couldn't just ask him like that…no, first, there should be some light conversation.

What did Esther suggest again?

_Keep it light. Start with everyday topics. Hogwarts, sports, hobbies…._

_Hogwarts then...How about classes? Right, I'll start with that, _she thought.

"So, does Professor Slughorn plan anymore surprises?" she blurted out.

_Stupid, stupid! It sounds almost like an accusation..._

"Not that I know of," Riddle replied with a slight smile, "Why, are we about to fall into the old argument?"

"No," she answered defiantly. "It's just that I think it's not fair if some people are more prepared than the others, it creates a situation where opportunities are not equal…"

She peered up at him, gauging his reaction…she couldn't help it - fairness has always been a sensitive topic for her...

"You know, had Godric Gryffindor bothered to keep an eye on Ragnuk the First, he could have prevented possible rumors before they even started."

"Godric trusted Ragnok and didn't expect that the Goblin would cheat, I think it's understandable as he was a very honorable and brave wizard…"

"I never stated otherwise," Tom said, trying to soothe the girl, "But a Slytherin would have kept his eyes open and would have considered the fact that not everybody is so honorable."

"I don't…Oh…we could be learning from each other, but we're way too competitive, is that it?"

"I'd say."

They both laughed.

_He was right, gathering information beforehand wasn't cheating,…and yet…oh, Slytherins were impossible!_

"But you believe that Godric didn't steal the sword, do you?" Minerva asked anxiously. It seemed suddenly very important to have it confirmed.

"I believe that… Ragnuk the First, being the finest Goblin silversmith, got…attached…to his creation, I can see how it he could deceive Godric Gryffindor in his attempt to keep his creation to himself…despite the promise that he'd made. It is possible considering the fact that goblins are extremely possessive in a way that wizards don't really understand."

"You've studied about goblin culture, haven't you?"

"Isn't that what we all do? – Us, the Muggle-raised – we study everything we can about the world we are introduced to at eleven."

"It was actually easy for me," Minerva said quietly, "My mum is pureblood. She told me everything I needed to know…"

"You're lucky then," he smiled

"What happened to your parents?" _So much for the light topics then..._

"I never knew them…I have always been at the orphanage…"

"I'm…ohm…sorry…" _Oh, Merlin, it was getting worse, why did she have to bring that up? Why? She'd known that she'd embarrass herself and there it was..._

"You know, I'm really not all that interesting…What about you, Miss McGonagall? The only things universally known about you are the fact that you are a very good student, excellent Quidditch player and definitely one of the most beautiful girls to attend Hogwarts…"

"Oh, hush, you…"

Minerva blushed, but the compliment had made her feel a lot better, at least they wouldn't be discussing Tom's deceased parents. The topic must have been still very painful for the poor boy. Discussing Quidditch or classes, on the other hand, well, it wasn't that different from the discussions she used to have with Ignatius and Esther..._so far, so good._

"What do you want to know?" she asked him.

"Anything at all…what's your favourite subject?"

"Transfiguration," she said excitedly, "I especially like how Professor Dumbledore always seems to know when we're in difficulties and helps us and how he can highlight which approach is necessary for every particular transformation…"

She continued like that. It was a delight to be finally speaking about something she was really interested in. Then they then talked about her family; she told him all about her mother, her father, her brothers… She never had a patrolling like that. It was very easy to chat with Tom. Who would have thought... he was insightful, witty, a good listener...

Suddenly, it was a shame that the patrolling was soon be ending.

"Only the Northern Towers are left," Tom announced after a while.

"Oh...right."

"What is it?"

"It's always cold there..." Minerva shuddered.

"Why don't you cast a warming charm?"

"I always cast it. But it's still cold. And you would think that being originally from Caithness I would be used to cold..."

Without another word took off his scarf and wrapped it around her before she could protest.

Minerva found herself momentarily transfixed by the gesture. _What was it with her? _She wasn't the type of girl who would read romantic novels only to try to "find certain signs" in real life...besides, she was so used to boys. The whole Gryffindor team consisted of boys, not to mention that she spent a lot of time with Ignatius and her brothers when she was at home...Boys were often immature, tactless, had crude sense of humour...Maybe that was it, Tom was mature and..attentive...his proximity always seemed to render her thoughts incoherent. His scarf, she noted, smelled faintly of cologne...

"Better?"

Minerva nodded.

"Green looks good on you, by the way."

"Tom...can I ask you something?" Minerva asked suddenly, for once managing not to blush at the compliment. She had to ask now. Tom would know, for he was a Slytherin.

"What is it?"

"The Slytherin monster...what do you think of it?"

His expression was pensive as if he was choosing his wording.

"The rumour about the Chamber of Secrets has been around for centuries...", he started slowly, "and it's possible that there is more to the legend because all legends are usually based on some factual evidence. It's also obvious that Hogwarts is definitely ancient enough to hide many secrets...But it may also be that the Slytherin monster doesn't exist at all, just as there is no Heir. It's possible that someone just played a twisted joke on us. The only victim was a cat, wasn't it? It might be a simple coincidence that the cat belonged to a Muggle-born girl...And the writing on the wall - well, like I said - someone's sick sense of humour."

There was a silence while Minerva digested the information...It couldn't be...if Tom was right, it meant that they had spent the whole year worrying about nothing, frightened witless by their own imagination.

"Minerva..."

The said girl looked up, not sure what to expect next.

"Look, don't worry, I'm a half-blood myself and I keep my eyes and ears open...so far I haven't seen or heard anything suspicious, but if I do, I will be sure to do anything it takes to get the culprit caught and expelled."

That reassured her.

"So, there's no-one in Slytherin who's acting strangely or...?" she pressed.

"Not that I've noticed. Why?"

For a brief moment she contemplated if she should tell Tom about Black's threat and the nightmares she was having lately... Tom wouldn't laugh, would he? But no, that would have just been stupid. Instead she simply changed the topic.

"No, nothing," she said instead, "It's just that the members of your House are not always exactly friendly...but it's not an indicator, I mean the rumors that I heard about you from some members of my House would suggest that you're..."

She suddenly stopped talking, horror-struck at what she had just blurted out.

Tom raised an eyebrow.

"Do I have a bad boy reputation in Gryffindor?" he asked, smiling mischievously, "How interesting... I wonder what I have ever done to earn myself one?"

"No, no...It's not exactly bad reputation...it's just that...well, you've been seen with Dolohov and the Blacks..." _Merlin, why did she have to continue turning the conversation as awkward as possible?_

"Oh...that..." Tom was smiling again...he wasn't offended, thank Merlin. "I'm just a boy from the orphanage, Minerva, there's no-one out there who would recommend me should I want to work in the Ministry one day...being on good terms with the influential people might help a bit. I was sorted into Slytherin for a reason." he finished with a wink.

_Of course, it was simple survival tactics. She would have done the same thing, although she probably wouldn't have befriended Walburga Black...and yet people had to invent all kinds of rumors about Tom belonging to the group of haters of Muggle-borns...how absurd, he was a half-blood himself! And she had believed those stories..._she felt suddenly so ashamed of herself.

"I understand, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to judge...it's just that Dolohov isn't exactly the nicest person out there and I guess once you were seen with him people started some stupid rumors...you know how it is in Hogwarts..." she was rambling again, willing him to understand.

"It's alright, I'm not offended..."

"No, it was stupid of me to listen to them in the first place, I should have known better...I'm sor—"

But she didn't finish the phrase as Tom simply started laughing.

"Minerva, you've been apologising to me all evening for something clearly as inevitable as someone's spreading rumors. The rivalry between our Houses started centuries ago and so has the corresponding prejudice, if you want to keep apologising for that, I believe one night will definitely not be enough and besides—our time's up. We have to hand in the patrolling reports any second now."

"Oh, yes, of course," Minerva said, for once answering him with a genuine smile. "It was definitely one of the most interesting patrolling sessions I've had in a while. Thank you."

"Pleasure is all mine. May I walk you to your common room?"

"That's very kind of you, but my friend - Ignatius - will see that as the ultimate betrayal. And besides, I can't reveal the location of our common room...don't you think that you can trick me into that."

"Oh, well, it was worth a try," Tom said with mock sadness, but now Minerva knew better to recognise the joke. "Good night then, Miss McGonagall."

"Good night. See you tomorrow. And it's Minerva."

"Good night, Minerva. See you tomorrow."

After a quarter of an hour, Minerva climbed in through the portrait hole, feeling happier than she ever remembered during the last term. She had just acquired a new friend and nothing could dampen her mood. Not even another row that Esther and Ignatius had later that evening or Ignatius's bitter remark about her being wrapped in the "slimy snake's scarf". They would come around, Minerva knew they would, she'd worry about them later, for now she was just happy to go to sleep without having any nightmares. Besides, all this 'House rivalry' was stupid—she would keep an open mind about Tom, she wouldn't say 'no' to a new friendship.

xxx

_June 14th, 1943_

_Why did it have to happen?_

She had been so happy during the last month of school. It was as if the rest of the year had never happened. Sure, not everything had been a picnic. The next morning after that patrolling session with Tom had been perhaps the worst morning she ever remembered. Esther and Ignatius must have had a more serious row the night before than she had originally anticipated, for next morning the conversation between the two seemed to be extremely strained and awkward. Naturally, the reason was Tom. Esther had been as loyal as any Hufflepuff when it came to supporting Minerva's newfound friendship with Tom, but Ignatius was another matter.

"You do realise that when you read his name backwards it sounds almost like 'mutt'—'mot'—'mutt', get it? Very fitting, in my opinion."

He had chuckled at his own tasteless joke. Both girls had sent him a glare.

"You do realise," Esther retaliated in a perfect parody of Ignatius, "that _Prewett_ sounds almost like a 'pervert' if you read it fast?"

Ignatius' chuckles had been promptly subsided.

"Of course, defend the perfect suck up snake," he had retorted bitterly, "it's not like he has enough fan-girls fawning over him. In fact, why don't the two of you just go over to the snake table and kiss the hem of his robes or something? I'm sure he'd love that."

"Only because you're jealous that there isn't anyone to fawn over you—" Esther had started angrily, but Minerva beat her to it.

It had been enough!

"You know, that's exactly what I'll do—go over to the Slytherin table, I mean—the two of you are impossible to eat with anyway," she had said to them.

Sure, it was mean thing to do but they had to understand that she had a limit as well. It had been six years that she'd known them and every single year she had to endure their bickering. Whenever Minerva thought about it, she wondered whether they would have befriended each other in the first place if it hadn't been for her.

She remembered very clearly what had happened next: she had walked over to the Slytherin table just as she had promised.

As she determinedly walked in direction of the Slytherin table, however, her confidence seemed to leave her. Sure, she had a very good reason to approach the snakes—she had to return the scarf—but Tom wouldn't be alone; there would be all the snakes with him, including Black.

Still, she was a Gryffindor for a reason—besides she couldn't change her direction now. Had she turned a bit earlier, she could have made it look that she was merely taking an alternative route to reach the exit, but now it was too late. _Right…_

"Excuse-me for disturbing you, I just came over to give Tom his scarf back. Thank you, Tom."

She had said all of it in one breath, which was a good thing because now that she was standing in front of the snakes, she was feeling extremely out of place. She took in her exact position—she was standing right behind Malfoy and Lestrange who were sitting opposite Tom. On Tom's right there was none other than Alphard Black and on his right there was his brother—Cyrus Black if she remembered correctly. On his right there were the rest of the Blacks including…

_« Ah, oui, regardez cette garce… »_

Minerva instantly knew that Walburga must have said something offensive, not only was it Walburga's thin lips that curved into a perfectly mocking smile, but Druella Rosier, her fellow snake, actually snorted into her tea. It wasn't normal, for Druella couldn't stand Walburga—"only because she got stuck with bronze while Walburga took both gold and silver as far as the snake annual bitch rewards went," as Esther had once put it—so why would she find something that Walburga had said funny unless it was an insult against their mutual enemy?

Walburga's hateful black eyes swept swiftly over Tom and then over the scarf in Minerva's hand. Minerva quickly lowered the scarf as well as the seething gaze that she'd gladly direct at the snake who didn't even have the decency to voice her insult in English—coward!

Lowering the gaze, however, had been a mistake, for she missed the warning gaze that Tom shot in Walburga's direction.

"Thank you, Minerva," Tom said rising from his seat and taking the scarf, "Would you like to join us?"

Minerva's mouth fell open. She was astonished—and so was the whole Slytherin table, although they were more adept at hiding it.

"I…I…I should actually be returning to my table…"

She dared to steal a look at Gryffindor table, hoping that Esther and Ignatius would at least look as if they had been expecting her to be back soon. No such luck. Precisely at this moment Ignatius stormed angrily out of the Great Hall. Esther was left to moodily pick at her toast.

"Looks like your friends are quite finished, are you sure you wouldn't like to join us? I'm sure none of us would mind."

"Of course not," said a girl whom Minerva vaguely recognised as Letitia Parkinson, "How's your Mother, by the way?"

_Of course, _Minerva thought, _For these people it was the name that mattered and her mother was a pureblood. Had it been Esther, on the other hand, they definitely wouldn't be as welcoming about the invitation...Actually, most of them didn't seem welcoming anyhow._

Judging by their looks it was plain that the majority of them would definitely mind her sullying their breakfast with her presence. Especially Walburga, but surprisingly none of them dared to voice any sort of protest. Minerva briefly wondered if Tom had downplayed his importance by presenting himself as "a simple boy from the orphanage"—or maybe they were all silent because the teachers were already looking out for any possible trouble? It was more likely. Professor Dumbledore, for instance, was staring at the Slytherin table with quite an unconcealed curiosity mixed with worry.

Minerva forced her gaze back to the still seated snakes, remembering that she was expected to give an answer. Her eyes met momentarily Alphard Black's and she knew that there was no way she would be joining them. He frightened her.

"I'm not hungry, but thank you for the invitation."

"Alright, see you later then, thank you for the scarf," Tom answered somewhat apologetically, as if ashamed of the behaviour of his House mates.

_Oh, but that was just silly, what could he have done about it anyway? It wasn't his fault, he was just being polite_—_unlike some of them!_

"Erm...thank you, I really needed it the other night and...oh..well I should...interesting classes...breakfast...will start any minute...eh..well..."

At that precise moment her traitorous stomach growled loudly, he cheeks heated up as on cue…_"not hungry"_—_now everybody would definitely understand that she was actually uncomfortable...as if the nervous rambling wasn't enough..._It was lucky that Lucretia Black dropped her cup of tea at this moment, thus allowing her to make her exit.

_Oh, the irony! She owed Lucretia Black out of all people._

But it was all unimportant now, none of it, not the smirks nor the taunts in her address, it had been so silly—what really mattered now was that _someone had died_. Myrtle Elance from Ravenclaw. She still couldn't believe it. When she first heard about it, she had simply thought it was someone's awful exaggeration. But it was true—someone had died, someone had been murdered at Hogwarts…_Why? Everything had been going so well_—Ignatius and Esther might have slightly disappointed her, but Tom had proven to be a good friend, more than that even, they had gotten together several times after that patrolling session and even if their getting-together couldn't be described as dating, it had always been very fun and even slightly romantic—Minerva had even allowed herself slight fantasies about the two of them...she hadn't worried about the Slytherin monster at all anymore—and then it happened. The tragedy. Hogwarts was going to be closed.

She hadn't written to her mother yet, she was afraid to. What if she withdrew her from Hogwarts? Isobel McGonagall was nothing if not a woman of action and Minerva's safety came first.

No, she couldn't write to her mother. And yet, whom could she ask what to do? Ignatius and Esther weren't on the talking terms anymore…It simply couldn't have been worse, especially when they had just been informed that it was Hagrid who was behind the attacks.

_Hagrid, _Minerva thought, _Hagrid was many things—a walking disaster, a ridiculously tall third year who would surpass every single seventh year in height,_ _a boy who have to be dragged out of the Forbidden Forest, the main reason why Gryffindor always scored the last place among the Hogwarts Houses despite all the matches they've won over the last years…but he wasn't a murderer._

She had to go to Professor Dumbledore, the Head of her House. She had to know.

xxx

_June 14th, 1943, past curfew_

She stormed through the now empty halls of Hogwarts, having the peculiar feeling of déjà vu. She even knew why—all her nightmares started like this.

Finally, she reached Dumbledore's office, took a deep breath and lifted her fist only to abruptly drop it. She listened. Someone was sobbing inside. Hagrid. There were almost no other distinguishable sounds.

"It's a misun'erstanding, Professor Dumbledore, sir! Wha'eve' Riddle says, Aragog didn' do it, I'm telling yer He never!...Please, Sir...I can explain everythin'…if yeh'll just listen."

His sobs grew louder before gradually subsiding. Dumbledore must have given him a Calming Draught.

"I have nowhere ter go, Sir…please Headmaster Dippet didn' listen…I have nowhere ter go…you gotta 'elp..."

"I can't change Headmaster's decision, Mr. Hagrid," Professor Dumbledore's sympathetic voice was heard, "But I do wish to hear what you have to say. However, I must ask you to tell me everything, I will not be able to help you otherwise."

Hagrid began telling his tale and Minerva listened even more closely.

"Me dad died this summer," Hagrid began in a quivering voice, "I never knew me mum…I was all alone, but then I found Aragog…he was just a baby. I couldn leave 'im…I took 'im with me...'e was my only friend, the others don' like me, Sir, they shun me…"

Minerva felt a sharp pang of guilt—it was true, everybody in the whole castle avoided Hagrid…it wasn't right, but, well _she couldn't blame them_, not really…Hagrid was difficult to be around to.

"Aragog was me only friend, I kep' im in the box," Hagrid continued. "He never hurt nobody, he's still just a baby, he can' hurt nobody!"

Minerva tried to listen more closely to find out who this Aragog was, but Hagrid was sobbing so hard that it was difficult to understand. The only thing she could understand was that Hagrid had cared deeply for that Aragog and apparently he had got into some sort of fight with Tom over him.

There was no point in listening behind the door, she had to talk to Tom.

She quickly went towards the grand staircase hoping that she would spot Tom somewhere. It was his night to patrol. The darkness descended quickly and she had to hurry.

Finally, a distant voice reached her, "Tom, you don't look well, we can as well switch..."

"Don't worry, I'm fine, there's no need…"

"Tom! Wait, we need to talk," Minerva hadn't meant to call out like that, but there was nothing to be done about it now.

There was an awkward silence as the three school prefects stared at each other seemingly surprised—only the Hufflepuff prefect was missing to make this bizarre meeting complete.

Clearwater took her time to examine Minerva from head to toe. Minerva suddenly understood how it must have seemed to the Ravenclaw prefect. She had rushed to Tom like some jealous girlfriend. Minerva would have probably drawn the same conclusions had the roles been reversed. Having heard all the taunting jokes that had been recently going on about her and Tom, it would have been the most logical conclusion to any outsider. It didn't matter—if she could stop blushing_—again_.

"I will leave the two of you," the blond said diplomatically.

"Thank you, Laveda, I will be joining you shortly," Tom replied.

"It's alright, Tom, I understand should you..eh..be delayed, excuse me."

There was another silence as both Tom and Minerva watched the Ravenclaw prefect disappear behind the corner.

"I assume it's about Rubeus Hagrid," Tom spoke as soon as they were alone.

"Tom, you have to tell me what happened."

"I'm sorry."

Minerva looked him in the eye and saw that he meant it.

"I wish I could say it wasn't him, Minerva, I really do, but it was. He killed that girl. Not purposely, I think…I doubt that he's even realised what he's done…"

There was yet another silence. The evening seemed to be full of those. Minerva looked at Tom more closely. He seemed tired. He was paler than usual and there were bags under his eyes as if he hadn't been sleeping properly. There were also faint choking marks on his throat, Minerva assumed they were left there by Hagrid, who was immensely strong and could be very dangerous in a fight. There was something else as well—something that she couldn't quite put her finger on.

"I don't believe it, tell me exactly what happened." Minerva demanded unable to put it off for any longer.

"About a fortnight ago I noticed that Hagrid was out after curfew. It wouldn't have been anything unusual, but about a week ago Albertus Prince from my own House mentioned that he had seen Rubeus Hagrid as well. Apparently, Hagrid had been spotted in the dungeons where we have Potions. It stirred my curiosity when I remembered that I had seen him in the same spot at exactly the same time earlier as well, but I didn't bother to investigate…I wish I did…," Tom inhaled and shook his head slightly as if to shake away the headache, "Yesterday, as soon as I heard that Ravenclaw girl screaming that a fellow student had been killed…I don't know how to explain it, I recalled Albert's words that Hagrid hadn't been alone, that he had heard some _inhuman_ voice in that dungeon—I suddenly needed to go down in the dungeons. I got there just in time. Hagrid was there and he had been trying to get the monster out of the castle…"

"M-monster?"

"I couldn't see it well; I only know that it was big. I tried to talk Hagrid into confessing everything, but he just attacked me instead. I'm sorry."

By the Tom had finished Minerva felt that she needed to sit down. It was too much to digest. Tom must have sensed her discomfort, for he stayed silent for a while allowing her to gather her thoughts.

Tom's light-fingered touch upon her shoulder inexplicably provided an immense comfort to her. She felt that without it she could have fallen apart right there and then. She wasn't even sure why. Perhaps it was the fact that too many unpleasant things had happened to her recently, or perhaps it was the fact that the nightmare was suddenly over, or the fact that she could still hear Hagrid's sobbing in her head...but whatever it was, it wouldn't let her go.

"It doesn't add up," she said finally.

She felt the boy's hand leaving her shoulder.

"Pardon?"

"Tom, it doesn't add up—I think... I think you are mistaken."

She looked up at him only to see that he had fixed her with an unreadable expression.

He didn't understand. _Of course he didn't_. She had to explain. She inhaled and tried to calm herself down—just as he had tried earlier. Then she did something that she'd never done before, reserved as she was—she took his hand in hers and looked him deeply in the eye.

"Please listen to me," she pleaded, "I honestly believe that it's just a huge misunderstanding. Even if Hagrid had been keeping some-some kind of dangerous animal, he would never ever write any threats on the walls. Besides, you say that you and Albertus Prince discovered him in the dungeons, but the students had been never attacked in that part of the castle—Hagrid's _m-monster_ couldn't possibly have hidden in the dungeons so soon after the attack, there's simply no animal so fast magical or not."

"Minerva," Tom said placidly, "I know that it's difficult to accept, but it couldn't have been anyone else but Hagrid. I agree that he would never write any threats on the walls, but there's also no-one else in the entire castle to try to hide and domesticate an extremely dangerous animal—whatever it was—it might have been some deadly cross-breed."

"No, you're not listening," Minerva yelled stubbornly, "you've convinced yourself that it's him, but you can't know that, you're just as traumatised as the rest of us—and don't say anything—I know you are, but listen to me very carefully: I will find it out the truth. I will speak with Professor Dumbledore right now."

"Minerva…"

But she didn't want to listen—_he_ had to listen.

"Tom, he's just like you—I've just heard him, he doesn't have anyone in this world to care for him. He's just as lonely as you are—perhaps even more so. He hasn't got any friends. He's an orphan just like you—please, _please, _listen," she paused to blink the tears away, "I know that you must be angry with him because he attacked you, you have every right to be, but _please _do this for me, give him a chance…"

Tom heaved a sigh as if praying for patience. This was something he had never done before—he had never showed any _annoyance_ when it came to her, but tonight he did. The feeling that there was something off about him came forcefully back to her.

"Alright, Minerva, let's suppose that you're right. It's true that it all happened very quickly and I might have made a mistake with Hagrid, but how are you going to fix it? What are you planning?"

Minerva released a breath she hadn't realised she had been holding.

_Now it was the time to tell him_.

"Listen, Tom—there's one person who might know a lot more about all of this than we do—Alphard Black—he as well as confessed it to me that he's somehow involved with the attacks."

Tom seemed to freeze at that. His dark eyes widened a fraction, his gaze suddenly boring into her with a renewed shewardness. That was good, it meant that she had his attention, he would listen to her now.

"I'm not inventing—I know that you're probably thinking that's the rivalry between our Houses that makes me say that, but it's not; I would never lie about something like that, Alphard Black cornered me on the edge of the Forbidden Forest and told me not to meddle or investigate if I know what's good for me—he sounded guilty—he _must _know something."

Tom merely nodded as if to indicate that he was indeed taking her seriously, listening her every word.

"I think it's really important that we get Alphard Black questioned—we have to do the right thing and try to establish the truth! Please help me with this—I'm sure that the authorities will listen, I can show them my memory and ask my Mother to stir some old contacts within the Ministry, but I really need someone to support me and neither Ignatius nor Esther are there anymore..."

"You're right; we can't be quiet about something like that. Let's bring it to the Headmaster's attention, it might be really important." Tom said simply once she'd finished her tirade, "Let's go and talk to him right now, shall we?"

_He had believed her._ It was such a relief—even she hadn't expected everything to happen so _quickly_—it was almost unnerving.

"Wait, Tom, let's tell Professor Dumbledore first—Headmaster Dippet, he, well, he might not take us seriously." Minerva supplied quickly recovering from surprise.

"He is very partial when it comes to…certain people, I know." Tom agreed as if knowing exactly what she meant.

_Good, she didn't have to explain_—_those kind of truths were something Slytherins preferred not to hear, but naturally Tom had long since understood the pattern. This was why she loved his company so much. He understood everything without unnecessary explanations and most importantly, never judged._

They started walking towards the East Wing. In her newly awakened hope that they were about to do the right thing Minerva didn't really pay attention as to where they were going. It was simply out of nowhere that she suddenly felt a pair of hands grasp her roughly and unceremoniously shove her into an empty classroom.

* * *

**Author's note**: I still haven't figured out why the update system doesn't allow me to just go back and correct my spelling mistakes without posting the same chapter again, so I truly apologise to those of you who have alerted the story and now receive two notifications for the same chapter. On to the other topics, then this story is obviously meant to be a chronicle of the past events that led such important family as the Blacks to their demise. This is the reason why the story starts in this particular time-line: because Tom Riddle (later known as Voldemot) started attending Hogwarts and inevitably pulled the Blacks (several of them also attending Hogwarts at that time according the time-line) into his plans, which is of great importance. Perhaps I should also apologise for naming some of the characters in a rather obvious way: Myrtle received the last name "Elance" because in French "élancé" means "willowy" and in English there is such a phrase as "weeping willow". Secondly, "Prince" who is Snape's ancestor is called "Albertus" in this story and "Albertus Magnus" is an actual historical figure, a German alchemist who was rumored to be one of those magi who actually achieved the transmutation of base metals into gold by means of the philosopher's stone." "Esther" comes from statistics and used to be a popular name in 1930s, very fitting for a Muggle-born girl. Lastly, I'd like to take the opportunity to thank **TheMuser **for all the continuing support - and you, dear readers, for dedicating some of your time to read this story. All the recognised characters belong rightfully to JKR.


	4. Chapter Four

_June 14th 1943, 9:36 PM, Malevolent Mirror_

Minerva's self-preservation instincts kicked in immediately. Ignoring the pain that the collision with the nearest desk had caused, she bolted back towards the exit—only to bump against Tom who immediately seized her by the arms, effectively trapping her. She then felt herself being pushed against the wall while her wrists were instantaneously grasped in a tight hold. She couldn't reach her wand now—not with such a firm grip on both of her wrists.

"So…here we are," the boy murmured softly, "All alone. It's about time we stop playing this stupid game, don't you think?"

"What do you mean? What are you doing? We're supposed to be going to Professor Dumbledore!"

"I don't think so, no."

They were alone in the deserted classroom. It was pitch dark and the only source of light was coming from the door that they had left slightly ajar in their haste. She couldn't see him well in this light; she could rather feel him than see him.

They both were slightly panting after the last few minutes of physical intensity.

"Let go, Tom!" Minerva demanded, hoping that her tone was commanding rather than scared.

"_Let go_, really?" he whispered huskily in her ear, "Isn't this exactly what you wanted then, darling? Have I really misread the signs?"

His grip on her wrists vanished; instead he briefly brought both his arms on either side of her frame, encircling her. There was no way to escape him now. They never broke the eye-contact. She could only observe him, at a loss as to how she was supposed to react to this—to any of this. She was caught completely off-guard, however, as she felt his index finger stroke her cheek lightly, trailing along her jawline and brushing against her lips.

She gaped at him wildly…she wasn't ignorant about these things…she'd heard enough stories, but surely _he wouldn't_…

"T-t-tom…w-what are you doing? Let. me. go. now!"

"And let you run to your crooked-nosed, ginger filth of a lover and tell him all about your suspicions?" He asked incredulously, all playfulness suddenly gone. "I think not."

"But…_Oh_…"

"Now, really, Minerva, what did you think I wanted from you?" the Slytherin mocked cruelly. "If that had been my intention, I assure you, I'd found someone…far more suitable..."

For once Minerva was actually glad that it was dark, for she wasn't sure she could have kept the utter humiliation from showing on her face. She could practically feel his disdain. Then a realisation dawned on her.

"You aren't going to help."

It wasn't a question.

"Impressive, little lion—it took you only…what…_a year_ to realise it?"

"I trusted you!"

"Don't you say."

"Bastard!"

"Petty insults? How disappointing—and here I had hoped that you'd come up with something more original."

She forced herself to be calm. Too much had happened during the last few minutes, it was almost surreal.

"Why are you—_being like that?_" She asked at last, utterly confused and on the verge of tears.

His smile widened, but it was shark-like—she could _sense _that it was, even in the dark.

"Ah, but you see, darling, the oaf _has to_ take the responsibility for what happened—the parents of the dead girl will want to see _someone_ punished," he said, as if it was the most natural thing, "Actually, I'm doing_ the right thing_—only in my own way, as you might have already guessed."

Minerva drew a sharp breath—such was the impact of her own words thrown back at her in such a perverse manner. She shook her head in disbelief. Luckily, he stepped away from her, leaving some space between them; she couldn't have supported his immediate proximity.

"Y-you…" she said slowly, still disbelieving, "Are you…you know he didn't...you...is…you—_you—_you and him? Covering up or—!"

This seemed to genuinely amuse the Slytherin.

"Such imagination you have, Minerva, honestly—how could I possibly have something to do with the _half-breed_ oaf's killing spree? But you're right, it's very _sad_—it's possible that he couldn't quite comprehend what he was doing—killing is in his _nature_, you see—"

She suddenly launched herself at him, not wanting to listen to any more of it. Perhaps it was the sheer unexpectedness of such a terribly unwise gesture on her part, but she somehow managed to surprise him. He had already uttered some spell to incapacitate or at least detain her, but as she pushed him his spell smashed a shelf instead. There was a sickening crunch as the shelf hit the floor, several glass objects shattering into nothingness.

For the second time Minerva tried to reach the exit, but to no avail. Her opponent was both stronger and more experienced. Her strike had not been nearly enough for her to gain the upper hand in the fight—or even draw her wand for that matter. In a second she was spun around and slammed down against the nearest desk while her torturer suddenly loomed above her.

"You know, I would much rather prefer us to remain civilised. However, if you keep attacking me, I will have no other choice but to bind you to the nearest chair."

There was no doubt that he would follow through with his threat, but reckless desire to fight had overcome Minerva and she paid it no mind.

Something sharp found a way into her hand as she struggled fiercely to get away—a shard of glass—now she'd also cut herself!

The door suddenly burst open and someone rushed in.

"I'M HERE—HEL—"

That was all she could utter before a wordless Silencing Charm hit her. She continued to scream but no sound came out of her mouth and instead she put all her energy into struggling.

She couldn't see who the newcomer was either.

"Indeed, Alphard, _help_, why don't you?" Tom—_Riddle_—said while holding her firmly down, "Close the door and set up the wards."

_Alphard? Alphard Black? _

Her thoughts were instantly distracted as several things happened at once. The room was suddenly illuminated. There was a _click _at the door and curious silver dust appeared before her eyes—silver dust, which disappeared in the next instant. The latter surprised her more than anything. Despite the dreariness of the situation, curiosity got the best of her and she glanced at Black who was still at the door. He wasn't simply standing there—he was busy tracing some kind of runic movements in the air. It were the very same runic movements that had briefly caused the silver dust to disperse in the room—and then it hit her—_wards. Black Family Wards_ by the looks of it—that is why she hadn't recognised the magic that Alphard had just used. Her mother had told her about them: every ancient family had their own secret rituals and secret spells that they didn't share with anyone.

A second later Minerva understood her mistake—she should have stayed focused on Riddle. She soundlessly yelped as she felt the boy's hand in her wand-pocket.

_Too late._

"Now, Minerva, will you behave—or will I have to tie you up?"

Minerva glared at the smirking Slytherin, but didn't dare to do anything else.

"Wise decision," Riddle commented before abruptly turning to Black, "So nice of you to finally join us, Alphard, what took you so long?"

Minerva watched cautiously as Riddle addressed Black—very casually so, as if they happened to be meeting in a corridor. It was clear that she wasn't worthy of Riddle's attention anymore. Strangely, it hurt her.

"I was held up—Laveda—she asked me to tell you that you should hurry back. You know what the Ravenclaws are like. She doesn't want to get in trouble," he paused a little before giving Riddle a meaningful look, "Dumbledore is out there as well; he has already inquired why Laveda was patrolling alone. She didn't reveal anything about your whereabouts though. I was there."

Minerva's heart leapt at the mention of Dumbledore's name—he was somewhere near, also patrolling the castle for extra security—if she had only knocked while he had been talking to Hagrid and told him everything, but instead she had gone to Riddle. Now she was trapped with two boys who had most definitely been involved in a murder.

_If only she had had the sense to keep a better eye on her wand at least..._

"Let's not keep Laveda waiting too long then."

Riddle was speaking again, twirling Minerva's wand between his long fingers as if knowing exactly what she had just been thinking. Other than that, his full attention was now directed to Black. Minerva used the opportunity to quickly scramble into a corner, where she would represent a less obvious target.

"Do you know why I have summoned you here?" Riddle asked Black.

Black didn't respond, his gaze merely flickered over to Minerva before he turned his attention back to Riddle.

The atmosphere suddenly seemed to be very tense in the room. Riddle looked horribly menacing as he stared at Black, his expression somehow apoplectic with suppressed fury. Black on his part had an oddly closed expression on his face, as if he was thinking very quickly. He faced Riddle head-on, however, not revealing any emotions. Minerva couldn't help but to feel even more frightened at the exchange. She had no idea what was going on.

_They were supposed to be accomplices, weren't they?_

Then her name was brought up as if on cue.

"Minerva here tells me you're quite the gossip girl, Alphard. Do you have any idea why?"

It wasn't really a question, that much was understood.

Black's eyes snapped once again to Minerva, who seemed to be in a kind of trance as she observed the two of them.

"You don't speak. I take it then that you have nothing to tell me—not even about your little romantic walk in the forest with our favourite Gryffindor over here?_"_

"I made a mistake, I apologise," was the curt reply.

"A mistake?" Riddle asked, his tone deceptively nonchalant, falsely chiding even. "Really, Alphard, you shouldn't insult poor Minerva by referring to her as to _mistake _so causally, even if it's true that she isn't exactly the best choice out there."

Minerva flushed at the taunt despite herself—oddly enough Black came to her rescue.

"Stop it..."

It had been the wrong thing to say. Riddle looked murderous. It was as if the darkness which had been hidden behind his apoplectic mask had been suddenly unleashed.

Riddle's wand made a sudden sharp movement and there was minor explosion in the air. The wards shattered briefly—next thing Minerva knew, Black was coughing up blood while clutching his chest.

Riddle walked over to him.

"Giving me _orders _now, are you, Alphard?"

The latter didn't reply immediately. Instead he vanished all the blood and took a minute to compose himself before slowly turning back to Riddle.

"I would know better than to ever intend something as foolish, but I do believe that our time is limited."

The last words were spoken cautiously and with emphasis.

Riddle slowly lowered his wand, still furious. All the while Minerva had been watching, her eyes wide with fear and her hands pressed against her mouth. It was as if she had been thrown into a different world existing behind some malevolent mirror, where reality was different and where she didn't know what to expect. It was the same kind of fear of the unknown as in her nightmares, only this here was much more real.

_Who were these boys?_

"Tell me, Alphard _what_ were you thinking? Surely, you must have realized the possible consequences of your action. Knowing you for as long as I have, I'm certain that you had your reasons...Speak!"

"I had my reasons," Black admitted, "But they were highly erroneous. I have learned from my mistake."

"Have you?" Riddle questioned, "Because it's funny how strategic your mistakes are." He paused before continuing in a much more menacing tone, "Was your conversation with Malfoy also a mistake?"

Colour drained from the Slytherin captain's face, although he still remained composed as ever, despite the recent curse. It was somehow admirable in its own way.

Riddle had now a look of wry satisfaction, as if something had been just confirmed.

"Oh, yes, I know about it—nothing remains hidden from me," he paused a little, "Tell me, Alphard, why should I tolerate_ s_uch disrespect?"

Riddle's voice was barely audible and had the impact of a kind of deadly whisper…Then everything happened very fast—maybe she had missed something at that precise moment, but she was sure she saw Riddle's eyes suddenly flash red and then for the second time he sharply drew his wand.

Minerva wasn't sure what had come over her—before she could even start to process what she was doing, she had crossed the room in three strides and moved to stand in front of Black as if to block whatever curse Riddle was about to cast at him—she _couldn't _have just remained standing there after having witnessed so much.

"D'n't..." she croaked out, her mouth awfully dry—whether due to the recent Silencing Charm or due to fear, she didn't know nor cared.

Her request—or rather action—had the desired effect, however, for Riddle halted his movement. It was uncanny how sharp his reflexes were—anyone else she'd ever known couldn't have stopped from casting a spell at this point.

Then it was suddenly over—the three of them were just standing there—Riddle and Black facing each other and Minerva standing awkwardly between them, her heart pounding. The awareness of the probable consequences of such an unbelievably ill-considered move as positioning herself between these two wizards suddenly dawned upon the girl. She didn't move, however, the shock kept her in place—_those red eyes_ she could swear she had seen a second ago stood vividly in her mind.

"Really, darling, leaving me in favour of the honourable Captain so soon? Mutual lack of intelligence must be irresistibly attractive," Riddle mocked, "Don't worry I'll let the two of you spend some quality time afterwards—now step back."

Minerva was still rooted to the spot, unable to move despite Riddle's indisputable tone.

"Minerva, please, step back."

Unlike Riddle, Black didn't sound in the least bit commanding in his request. Minerva looked up at him. He could have as well been in his "captain mode", ordering around the Slytherin team if it hadn't been for the grave expression that he was wearing—as if he knew something she didn't. Minerva decided to obey.

She quickly assumed her "hiding place" in the corner, all the while shooting half-expecting, half-scared glances at Riddle.

It was Black who spoke next, however.

"I have _never _questioned your authority and I never will. I did what I did because I didn't realize the gravity of the circumstances, yet I know better than to try and excuse myself and I'm definitely not naive enough to think that there won't be repercussions. Moreover, I'm ready to face whatever it takes. To prove it, I will make sure that none of it ever comes out."

Black's dark eyes were glittering curiously, his expression, while still grave, was now resolute. Minerva felt a sharp sting of betrayal—she didn't even know why—it was just that a moment ago it had seemed that Black was _against_ Riddle, just like her...

"I see," Riddle said, addressing Black. He was scrutinizing Black with a feral intensity, the kind of gaze the _nobody _would have wanted to be fixed with. After a long moment Riddle's expression seemed to soften, lapsing back into the usual mask of casual grace.

"Why, Alphard, I never knew you had it in you—for once you're being responsible...I feel that I should gather the rest of your family in here to share this important moment with them."

Apparently Minerva wasn't the only one who was being mocked. If Black was offended by the mockery, he didn't show it.

"Surely, you understand what it would mean…" Riddle continued lightly, "Are you sure you're _capable _of something like that?"

Riddle's smile was positively demonic as he shot Minerva another amused gaze. Said girl could only stare, the fear building. She refused to cry, however—or do anything else that would instantly show how scared she really was.

"What has to be done has to be done," was Black's impassive response.

"Indeed," Riddle said, "But let us give her a choice, shall we? What are you doing hiding in the corner, darling? Come here—Alphard don't be rude, offer the lady a seat, will you," he continued, now addressing Minerva.

Black motioned with his head for Minerva to come over where the two of them stood. Riddle pulled out chairs for them.

Minerva remained standing in the corner. She had a funny feeling that many things were actually left unsaid in her presence—it wasn't exactly a cheerful thought, given all the clues. Besides, she didn't want to go anywhere near Riddle anymore—or Black after the latter's proclamation. Her every instinct screamed that she had to get away instead...

"Don't be so childish, Chaser, you can't withdraw if the game has already started. Better come over here and get familiar with the rules—it's your best chance, _trust me_."

The last two words were spoken with special emphasis; even if Black's words weren't exactly reassuring, his eyes were a different matter—it was almost as if he was trying to communicate with her without Riddle knowing about it. It had been in vain though, for the latter simply smirked at the interaction knowingly.

There was something about Alphard Black that made him an excellent Quidditch captain—indisputable ability to take over the role of the leader and provide guidance. He was very much like Tom in that sense—only at the same time completely different from him. Unexpectedly, it came as a flashback to Minerva that Black had been sitting on Riddle's immediate right when she had approached the Slytherin table that morning. She didn't know what to think of it right now...

Slowly Minerva approached the Slytherins, her movements awkwardly stiff and feline at the same time. She sat down on the chair that was offered to her. The three of them were now seated at the table. They could have been studying or drinking tea—instead they were about to discuss how to keep any of this from 'coming out'—the situation was awfully twisted.

"How about we make a deal?" Riddle spoke up, again addressing Minerva.

Minerva didn't reply, instead she kept looking back and forth from Riddle's face to Black's. It was useless; their faces were blank masks. It was impossible to tell if they were being serious or simply toying with her.

"You're offering me a _deal_?" she finally asked incredulously.

"Why not? It would be most sensible thing to do—think about it—we can agree that you don't mention tonight's events to anyone under any circumstances. In exchange I will guarantee that nothing bad will happen to Malcolm and Robert. They are soon coming to Hogwarts, aren't they? You have my word of honour that I will fulfill my side of the bargain. Alphard," he motioned to Black, "can be our bonder. Come on now, darling, be sensible."

Minerva's jaw actually dropped.

_How could he even fathom something as low as…_

"You're..._sick_," Minerva managed.

"Is that a 'no' then? As you wish. Very well, Alphard, you know what's to be done. Remember, darling, it was your choice—although I don't think you shall."

Before Minerva could say or do anything else, however, several things happened at once. The wards glowed for a second as Riddle stood up and swiftly walked over to the door. Minerva thought of using the opportunity and running while the wards were down, but Black promptly grasped her upper hand, preventing her from fulfilling her plan, as unlikely as it might have been in the first place. Then Minerva felt the heat in her hands as the cut caused earlier by the shard of glass was healed. She looked up at Black, completely bewildered.

_Healing charm?_

Before she could even start forming the question, Black went over to Riddle and handed something over to him. She couldn't see what.

"Make sure to not commit any further _mistakes_, Alphard," Riddle cautioned, "And be grateful that I'm letting you off this easily. If it hadn't been for me, we both would have had the opportunity of finding out if your family is influential enough to hold you out of Azkaban."

Black gave a quick nod to indicate that that the message—whatever it was—had been understood.

In the next second Riddle left the room, leaving Minerva alone with Black.

xxx

_June 14th 1943, 9:47 PM, Menace Wears Purple Robes_

Hogwarts held many precious memories for Albus Dumbledore—both from his time as a student and as teacher. The year of 1943, however, had been exceptionally dark in the history of the castle. Worst of all, he had been thoroughly unsuccessful in his attempts to uncover the mystery of the Chamber of Secrets, no matter how many times he had read 'Hogwarts: A History'. Did the Chamber even exist?

_I am unable to answer_—_just as I have been unable to prevent the tragedy_, Albus thought sadly.

Albus had a horribly funny feeling that the answer had been in front of him the entire time—and yet none of his conclusions made any sense… _It would seem that Miss Elance had been hit with a killing curse, except that there hadn't been any characteristic signature that was usually left by the curse…It was naturally possible that someone had invented a new curse—a curse that would have the same effects, but would be completely different in nature. But in that case, the new curse would still have a magical signature of some kind…but there was no signature at all, it simply didn't make sense…_no matter how much he thought, it didn't make sense…who would…

"Mr. Riddle?" Dumbledore's musings were cut short as he spotted the young man. Relief flooded the Transfiguration professor, for unlike the other professors, Dumbledore knew for sure that the culprit hadn't been caught yet and the students were still potentially in danger—especially if those students chose to wander about the castle all alone.

"Sir?"

"You really shouldn't be wandering off on your on like that, Tom. Is there a reason why you decided to patrol separately from Miss Clearwater?"

"No, Sir, I apologise…I simply wanted to check the second floor first and as Laveda was reluctant to go near the place where…where Myrtle Elance was found…I…I simply did it myself. I understand that I shouldn't have walked away on my own like that. I'm sorry, Sir, I shall return to her immediately."

Albus looked gravely at the boy, trying to decide if he was being sincere. Truth to be told, he really doubted that, but Mr. Riddle was a student nonetheless and Albus felt responsible for his safety.

"Are you alright, Mr. Riddle?" he asked.

The boy had dark circles under his eyes and he was deathly pale—clear signs of magical exhaustion. Albus was immediately alarmed.

_What could he have been doing to end up in such a condition?_

"I'm fine, Sir. Just tired, that's all."

"You don't look well, Mr. Riddle, I suggest you spend a night in a Hospital Wing, don't worry about tonight's patrolling. You are dismissed. You will find Miss Clearwater near my office, make sure to join her and sign the papers. Afterwards, I shall escort you to the Hospital Wing. Now, off you go."

"Sir, I'm feeling alright, I can finish the patrolling duty. Honestly, it's not a problem…"

"I'm afraid I must insist, Tom, health is a serious matter. Now, please go and sign the papers while I go down to the Slytherin Common Room. You shouldn't be patrolling in such a condition in the first place."

There was a note of finality in Dumbledore's tone and thankfully Mr. Riddle knew better than to argue.

"If you insist, Sir," he said dejectedly, "Sir, may I ask you why you are going to Slytherin Common Room? I mean, if you're looking for something perhaps I could help you…"

"Ah, that's very kind of you, but alas, no, I merely want to make sure that Mr. Black has kept his promise to not wander about the castle past curfew. You see, I spotted him earlier in the hall and as sad as it is, I'm simply not allowed to close my eyes on any rule-breaking," Albus said, winking.

"Of course, Sir."

As Albus descended the stairs, he was pleased to see that Mr. Riddle had started walking in the direction of the East Wing.

_Why was it that he still thought that there was something very off with the boy? _

xxx

_June 14th 1943, 9:50 PM, Marred Conscience_

Alphard merely stared at the door through which Tom had disappeared.

_How much time had they already wasted?_

The patrolling duty started at 9:00 PM and lasted two hours. One hour had most definitely passed, which meant that they had only one more hour to go. Tom couldn't have thought of a more effective punishment than to make him correct his mistake with his own hands. How ironically educating…

Barely a couple of minutes had passed since the other had left. McGonagall still remained standing in the exact place by the desk where he'd left her, utterly confused and guarded.

In other circumstances, Alphard would have loved to be alone with her. The girl had certain appeal even if she was thoroughly Gryffindor. Cygnus had called it an 'infatuation', Tom had made a snide remark about his 'poor choice', but what neither of them understood was that Minerva's courage and determination were extremely rare qualities, which combined with some cunningness could have led to great things... Oh, how he would have loved to try and tempt her to follow the path of darkness, corrupt her innocence and show her that the world wasn't just black and white... If it hadn't been for the obstacles...

"Thank you," he said quietly.

McGonagall now looked at him as if questioning his sanity—or hers.

Her obvious request to him to elaborate never had the chance to be spoken aloud because Alphard needed to say more anyway.

"The way you positioned yourself between us earlier—it was very brave and admirable."

The girl scowled at him darkly.

"You're _with him," _she whispered almost loathingly.

Alphard smirked at the irony—she was so predictable—just as the rest of them, and yet he admired her. He briefly wondered if all Gryffindors were that predictable. He had once bet a fellow Slytherin twenty galleons that he could manipulate a Gryffindor into getting drunk in a room full of Slytherins and to his surprise, it had actually worked. The trick was simple—he'd just sat near the foolish lion and advised him earnestly to stop consuming that much alcohol—the boy had done exactly the contrary to 'spite him' and with that had fallen into a trap. McGonagall was no different...and that was ironic because he had honestly meant well when he had advised her to be cautious...People were strange that way—_or maybe he was strange?_ But it wouldn't do to argue now, he had to be smart about his answers to her.

"In a way, yes, I..._support_..him...But I'm also grateful for what you did. Neither my sister nor my brother would have done the same—for each other maybe, but not for me."

Perhaps she heard something close to bitterness in his voice and misinterpreted it, but surprisingly her demeanour softened.

"Alphard…if…if you're really grateful then take down the wards and…."

"Let you go to Dumbledore?" he finished for her. "Even if I took down the wards and let you walk out of here, you would never be meeting Dumbledore—for one, you have no idea where to find him...he's somewhere in the castle, patrolling...but you don't know where."

"Then I would find someone else—whoever...Professor Slughorn..."

"You wouldn't be meeting anyone—not a single professor," Alphard said with certainty, "Don't think that he hasn't foreseen the possibility in case you somehow manage to get yourself out of this room."

There was silence as the girl tried to process his words.

"Why? _Why?_" she asked at last, looking as if she was finally about to cry, "Did Myrtle Elance do something to you? Or was it Hagrid?"

It was difficult to explain. Neither the Mudblood nor the oaf had done anything to them. In fact, they were utterly unimportant and could have lived on just as before for all Alphard cared. It wasn't the point. The whole story went much deeper than that. But she wouldn't understand...

"No, they didn't do anything. It was an accident."

But that seemed to have done it—Minerva had finally reached her breaking point.

"Don't you dare! Don't you dare to say that it was an accident...it wasn't! You—you threatened me a long time ago—you..._and him_...murdered..."

She was hysterical, tears now falling freely as her palms clenched into fists.

"I never murdered anyone," Alphard said with the kind of tone that made her recoil. "Have you been paying attention?" he asked in turn, advancing on her, "All I ever wanted was to keep you out of trouble; my exact words were '_look out for yourself and don't go prying where it's uncalled for'_. Does that sound like a threat to you?"

Tonight's events must have been taking a toll on him too, for he was furious—_what the hell was wrong with her? Didn't she understand that all that he ever wanted was to keep her safe from all of this?_

They had unconsciously moved towards the wall and with an unpleasant jolt, Alphard noticed that he had almost pushed her in the same kind of position as Tom earlier had—literally trapping her smaller frame with his body as she had pressed herself against the wall, unable to move away any further. He had to be careful with his temper. Any aggressiveness on his part would not endear her to him.

Minerva had obviously noticed the shift too, for she had audibly gulped.

"Bl...Alphard..," she tried.

But he got her first.

"Are you hurt?" he asked her gently.

"Wh..."

The abrupt change must have been disconcerting. Still, she unconsciously lowered her gaze as soon as he'd asked her.

_Of course, _Alphard thought, _the wrists. _Tom had held her down when he had entered the room and it was most probable that he had seized her wrists too at some point—she would most likely have bruises and perhaps some other classic defensive wounds. He'd even healed a cut on her hand earlier...

"May I?" he asked her ever gently, gauging her reaction.

She was hesitant, not trusting, taken by surprise of the sudden turn of events but not defensive either. Good... he'd managed to get her exactly where he wanted without much manipulation.

He gently took her hand and carefully rolled up her sleeve to check if there were any bruises, all the while checking her reaction.

"I'm sorry for having lost my temper earlier. I have never killed anyone—nor been involved in any kinds of murders. I only discovered everything tonight—just as you did."

He wanted to leave this clear.

"Alphard?"

"Yes?"

"I don't understand. If you didn't, then...why..."

"Why I behaved the way I did?" he interrupted.

She nodded.

"You see while I didn't know, I still suspected; that is why I tried to warn you. Don't be offended but you and your friends seem to think that the Headmaster has employed you as Hogwarts' resident Aurors...all the attacks happened in secluded places of the castle, away from any witnesses... I didn't want you to wander around."

"Why?"

"My way of thanking you for your timely warning about that Bludger... The only problem was how would I get the message across to you? It's not like we're free to come over to each other's tables in the morning. The rumor mill would have exploded if I were to do such a thing and Tom would have known everything the second I told you about my suspicions."

"Oh...that morning, you seemed angry...Was it because...?"

They both knew that she was talking about the morning when Minerva returned Riddle his scarf. Alphard's expression had scared her.

"Wouldn't you be angry in my place? All my efforts had been in vain. Should I have _hired_ you to catch the culprit instead? Would you have stayed out of it then? Is that how Gryffindors work—you always do exactly the opposite of what's been told? _Salazar!_"

He had been careful not to raise his voice as he had been speaking. He couldn't afford scare her away. But she was making it difficult, staring at him as if they hadn't spent past six years in the same building.

"It's true...we...we don't work as a team...that's why we always lose...the matches, I mean...we don't listen to anything that we're told..."

Her voice faded. She lowered her gaze.

_Why was she suddenly being so_—_'shy'? Had he done something wrong? He hadn't counted on that. No, it couldn't have been that; her posture seemed relaxed now, so she wasn't frightened..._

"But...why_ me_?" she asked suddenly, "Why didn't you tell your suspicions to a teacher?"

"Really? _Tell a teacher_? Without any proof? Without any evidence? No—", the word '_darling'_—damn you Tom—had almost slipped off his tongue. "No, I'm not a Gryffindor, I can't risk my position—in my world, _position_ means everything."

She stared at him, as if trying to see from his perspective. She wasn't accusing him. That was good.

Finally, she inhaled as if to say something important. Alphard knew that they had reached a crucial point.

"What...what happens now?" she asked.

_I'm really sorry for this._

"Now we think of how to get out of this," he replied to her instead.

She was skeptical—and rightfully so. He had to put her at ease and do it convincingly.

"Do you really think that I was being serious about going along with any of his ideas, _obeying _his orders?" he asked incredulously. "You do know who I am, don't you?"

She looked uncomfortable, as she should have; the reputation of the Blacks was known even to Gryffindors.

"It's just that when he was here, you..."

"I was buying time, Chaser. I wouldn't have achieved anything by openly fighting him, not to mention that you could have gotten injured...I had to wait...you understand, don't you?"

Slowly, she nodded.

_Mission completed._

xxx

_June 14th 1943, 10:11 PM, Martyrdom_

Dumbledore felt somewhat better now that he had been assured that Mr. Black had indeed gone to the Slytherin Common Room just as he had promised. He was quite fond of the young man, even if as a teacher he shouldn't have favourites. Once Mr. Black had asked him if he was the one who had styled the Knight Bus, to which Dumbledore had kindly replied that the Knight Bus had been first introduced in eighteen hundred sixty-five, while he had been born much later than that. It was only later that Dumbledore understood that Mr. Black had actually been implying that the Knight Bus was the same 'atrocious' purple as a set of his robes. It was no surprise to Albus Dumbledore that his choice of robes was something that tended to irritate people's eyes, but he had to admit that Alphard Black's remark was rather ingenious—just as many other remarks he'd made.

It was, therefore, that Mr. Black's behaviour in the common room had seemed somewhat different to Dumbledore. As he had caught the young man with Miss Clearwater a little bit earlier in the evening, he seemed more aloof, even going as far as to flirt with Miss Clearwater in front of him, but in the common room he had been very curt…_had something happened? _ Well, he trusted Mr. Black to tell Horace if it was serious. Right now he had to take the reports and send Mr. Riddle to the hospital wing.

As Dumbledore approached his office, he was surprised to find not only Mr. Riddle and Miss Clearwater, but also Miss McGonagall waiting for him.

He was further surprised to find that both girls looked extremely unhappy about something.

Before Dumbledore could have made his presence known, Miss Clearwater spoke, "You're not wearing your tie, McGonagall, forgot to put it back on?"

Miss McGonagall replied immediately, "For your information, Laveda, _dear_, I merely came down here to speak to Professor Dumbledore. I don't see how my _tie_ is relevant."

"'_Came down here_'—you've been 'down here' for the whole past hour enjoying Tom's _company _while I had to patrol all alone—"

"Laveda, there's no need to shout like that. I'm sorry to have left you alone, but you told me you didn't mind if I stayed with Minerva…"

At this point Dumbledore cleared his throat to make himself known. Mr. Riddle seemed almost relieved that he had intervened.

"Professor Dumbledore, I've been searching for you," Miss McGonagall said immediately, "I ran into Tom earlier,"—she motioned to Mr. Riddle—"he was trying to help me to find you, we didn't know in which part of the castle you were patrolling, you see..."

For some mysterious reason, Miss Clearwater made an incredulous noise.

"I see. How can I help you at this late hour Miss McGonagall?"

"Sir, I was wondering if the rumours are true?"

_Ah, she was wondering about Mr. Hagrid...of course..._

It was Miss Clearwater who answered.

"Of course, they're true, even a troll could tell," she shouted angrily. "He perfectly fits the profile: I've read all the books there are on the psychology of dark wizards—every single dark wizard has started committing horrendous deeds in exactly the same way. Dark wizards are essentially intelligent revolutionists who are convinced that our society is corrupt and needs to undergo a change. You can't deny that it's true that we are all very competitive and sometimes even prejudiced. Competitive and prejudiced environment brings out the nastiest side of human psyche and Hagrid, who isn't blessed with any intellect whatsoever, simply got tired of being constantly humiliated by his betters. However, as he has no brains to organize a revolution like other dark wizards before him, he resorted to simple brutality. Do you think it's a coincidence that he chosea_ Ravenclaw _as his victim? Use your head, McGonagall—how stupid can you be?! We represent everything that this beast fears and hates—we are smart and intelligent...and he hates us for it, he _hates_ us, he wants to _kill_ us, every single one..."

Dumbledore thought of reprimanding the Ravenclaw, but the girl simply broke down in tears at the end of her speech.

"Miss Clearwater, please calm down," Dumbledore said, opting instead for geniality and placing a hand on her shoulder.

"I'm so s-s-sorry," the girl sobbed, "but I was so frightened to be here all alone, knowing that he's still in the castle, a-after he... When I ran into Alphard Black earlier I thought—I thought it was him...t-the _beast_ coming after me too...I...I was so scared... Why haven't the Aurors come to take him to Azkaban?"

"Miss Clearwater, you don't have to worry. Mr. Hagrid has been banned from the castle for the time being and his wand has been confiscated and destroyed."

Dumbledore knew that he would be unable to convince Miss Clearwater of Mr. Hagrid's innocence—what the poor girl needed was only support and reassurance. Instead he made a note to tell Mr. Hagrid to stay away from the castle for some time. Children could sometimes be very cruel, especially when blinded by revenge and fear: they could gang up on poor Mr. Hagrid if no precautions were taken. Still, he'd wait until tomorrow. Miss Clearwater's obvious distress was of more importance right now.

Now that he came to think of it, Miss McGonagall hadn't even bothered to console her fellow prefect. Instead she remained standing very close to Mr. Riddle with a slightly disgusted expression on her face, as if Miss Clearwater's behaviour was repulsing in her opinion. It was odd; Albus would have thought that Miss McGonagall would act differently—but perhaps she hadn't been very good friends with Miss Clearwater afterall.

"Now, now, Miss Clearwater, the patrolling session is over for tonight. You have my permission to return to Ravenclaw Common Room. I will send a House-Elf named Dinky to give you some Chamomile tea—would you like me to call your Head of House to escort you?"

"N-no, thank you, Professor," Laveda replied timidly.

"Are you sure, Miss Clearwater?"

"I'm sure, I'm fine, Professor. Thank you."

"Very well then," Dumbledore replied, "Was there something else you wanted to ask me, Miss McGonagall?"

"No, Sir, that was all."

"Alright," Dumbledore replied—again he had a feeling that something was off with Miss McGonagall tonight, just like with Mr. Black—what a preposterous idea, "In that case, you can now return to your Common Room as well, Miss McGonagall. You, Mr. Riddle, will have to stay behind a little to finish the paperwork."

All students nodded in agreement.

"Well, goodnight then," Miss McGonagall said to everybody—and then she leaned over to Mr. Riddle and kissed the young man in a rather inappropriate manner considering the audience, before whispering something into his ear and retreating.

Dumbledore's eyebrows shot up in surprise—he had heard a few taunting jokes while walking the halls, but he would have never actually believed any of them. The fact that the rumours had just been confirmed before his eyes wasn't good at all. Miss Clearwater must have shared his opinion—but for entirely different reasons obviously—for she coughed something eerily close to an insult in Miss McGonagall's direction and stormed off without saying 'goodnight' to any of them.

"Your report, Mr. Riddle," Dumbledore asked after an awkward moment of silence as both girls quickly disappeared from the view.

"Yes, of course," the boy replied.

Dumbledore took the report and examined it; it seemed to be perfect—not that he expected any less from the young man. Mr. Riddle was very thorough. _Sometimes_, Dumbledore thought, _too thorough_. It was almost as if the young man was obsessed with _perfection_. Perfection in studies, perfection in manners...and perfection in those who surrounded him. If the rumours were to believed, then Mr. Riddle also dedicated a lot of his time in tutoring some of his fellow Slytherins—_fellow Slytherins with potential, _Dumbledore thought suddenly, _not just any Slytherins_.

Miss Clearwater had been right, they _were_ too prejudiced, even if her own statement oozed prejudice as she spoke—but was he, Dumbledore, being prejudiced right now? It was the second time this evening that suspicion regarding his student had been aroused in him. Did he perhaps judge Mr. Riddle too harshly? Yet, for some reason, he simply couldn't shake off the feeling that while Mr. Riddle did tutor his fellow Slytherins, it was as if they were _not allowed _to fail, as if they had been_ obliged_ to have good results...The question was, why did Mr. Riddle go through so much trouble for their sake in the first place? Dumbledore still remembered a deeply troubled, malnourished child from the orphanage; the child had shown all signs of social exclusion... Had Hogwarts managed to change him—helped him find friends and happiness? Dumbledore really wanted to believe it, but he highly doubted it.

_He would have to keep an eye on the boy._

"Is something wrong, Sir?" Mr. Riddle suddenly asked, studying Dumbledore's face very intently.

"Oh, how could be something wrong?" Dumbledore responded jovially. "Your notes are very thorough, Mr. Riddle, as always. I do wish you would doodle something at the bottom of the page though, it would be very interesting for me to figure out what it is. Mr. Diggory doodled a badger sitting on top of the lion once, I thought it was quite original—his way of celebrating Hufflepuff's Quidditch victory while being on duty."

Apparently, Mr. Riddle wasn't sure how to comment, for he remained silent.

Dumbledore was about to remind him that he should go to the Hospital Wing as the night was pierced by a horrible scream.

xxx

_June 14th 1943, 10:20 PM, Mon malheur_

_What the hell is taking them so long?_

It was Alphard's only thought as he glanced down at McGonagall's broken and bleeding form two floors below.

Everything had gone according to the plan. While they had wasted quite a lot of time in the beginning, they had known exactly what to do by the time it was _9:40 PM._

The very best—and worst—thing about Hogwarts was the fact that there were always witnesses—ghosts, portraits, fellow students, professors, _poltergeist_... Being accidentally seen or heard was almost inevitable, but if one knew how to use this fact in their favour, it wasn't a problem.

The key point of the plan was to prevent McGonagall from ever telling anyone about tonight's events and the only way to achieve that was to make sure that she would 'forget' that anything had ever happened—to obliviate her, in other words. The problem was that memory charms left traces; there was always a risk of being discovered, should a skilled witch or a wizard look deeper into her mind… The only way to prevent anyone from examining her mind and accidentally discovering that something was amiss, was to cause a physical injury serious enough to distract the mediwitch…This was where the complications began. They were forced to come up with a convincing _accident _and to do it fast.

The rough idea of the plan came to Alphard right there and then—in the presence of McGonagall as he assured Tom that he would rectify his _mistake_. Tom had toyed with Minerva a little, suggesting the unbreakable vow, but it was clear as day that he had never intended anything like that…and so they had gone through with Alphard's plan.

Alphard had distracted the girl by healing a cut on her hand as he quickly took a single black hair and gave it to Tom—just enough for Polyjuice Potion. She never even noticed what he had done. There had been no doubt that Tom would find a suitable person to impersonate McGonagall. After all, they couldn't have Laveda Clearwater casually mentioning to anyone that she had last seen Minerva McGonagall with Tom Riddle before the _'accident'_ had happened. No. The impostor would make sure to be seen in some other place, away from Tom by the time of the accident…

And so Alphard had stayed with McGonagall, waiting for Tom's signal... It had taken a while. Honestly, it was almost ridiculous to have to wait so long, but Alphard had used the time wisely. It had been entirely up to him to come up with the scheme of the accident. What could he have done? The only thing that had initially occurred to him was the bone breaking curse, but it wasn't that good. Firstly, he simply couldn't have bared to watch Minerva screaming in pain and begging him to stop as he would have cast the curse again... It would have been too much. He had never hit a girl before, let alone tortured one. Secondly, all such curses left characteristic traces of dark magic and that would have been highly suspicious should anyone ever bothered to investigate...No, he had needed something quick and simple, something not strictly involving magic...something like falling over twenty-four feet and breaking as many bones as possible. Not fatal, but most definitely serious enough to be sent to the Hospital Wing.

_Finally, they're coming._

There were suddenly hurried footsteps and Albus Dumbledore literally sprang into view two floors below with—much to Alphard's surprise—Tom at his heels. _Well, at least they were quick to stop the bleeding..._

Alphard and Walburga, still polyjuiced as Minerva, were observing the scene from two floors above while being protected by an invisible shield to cover their magical presence—a kind of barrier that made them invisible to the others.

"It's not that bad, she'll live," Walburga observed. Alphard could hear the disappointment in her voice.

"Why do you hate her so much?"

"Why so defensive, brother dearest?"

"You wouldn't understand."

"Is that what you told Cygnus?"

"You know about that?"

"I know about your _mistake."_

Alphard directed her a questioning gaze.

"Oh, _please_, did you actually think that I had no questions whatsoever when I was told to impersonate the leader of the 'Triple M' tonight?"

'Triple M'—it had been Alphard back in the day who had come up with the name. It stood for "McGonagall, Mudblood and the Moron"—very fitting abbreviation of the three Gryffindors who poked their nose in places they shouldn't.

Alphard sighed.

_How childish they all were..._

Minutes ticked by as Alphard and Walburga waited for the coast to clear in order to go back to the common room.

Finally, Walburga spoke.

"You have nothing to worry about. Possible consequences of your ill-thought action have been avoided. The Gryffindor nuisance has been obliviated and everybody believes that she has just had an accident... _How unfortunate _for her to have forgotten her wand in her dormitory," she paused as she noticed that her brother wasn't reacting. "Alphard, stop brooding. You have to be prepared for tonight."

Alphard knew what Walburga was hinting at—his conversation with Tom was far from over.

"Who will take Minerva's wand to Gryffindor dormitory?" he asked.

"The task has been assigned to Lucretia, she will also deal with the Mudblood and the Moron—that bint has apparently shared everything with them. Including your..._warning_... We don't want either of them thinking that you had a hand in the her unfortunate accident, do we now? She will probably use some mind magic to make them _forget_."

"Another one of Tom's ideas, I suppose?"

Walburga's—_Minerva's_—eyes suddenly snapped at him. Ugh! He hadn't been careful with his tone.

"There are funny rumours..." Walburga said slowly, calculatively, "that you had a little conversation with Abraxas...The rumour has it that you..._questioned_ Tom's authority..."

Alphard reacted in the split of a fortunate second. Dumbledore was coming—even though they were behind a magical shield, Dumbledore was a very powerful wizard and should he sense someone's magical presence, he'd cast _Finite Incantatem _and he and Walburga would be revealed instantly...and provided the fact that Walburga was still polyjuiced as Minerva...they would end up being questioned...Alphard didn't want to think about it. The whole plan would be instantly blown, Dumbledore would somehow make them confess everything...

Dumbledore moved quickly and methodically, all the while looking around carefully. He stopped in front of the moving staircase from which Minerva had fallen and which now stood motionless.

And then it happened—he abruptly changed the direction and started walking towards the exact place where Alphard and Walburga stood pressed against the wall.

Walburga's grip around his wrist tightened considerably, but thankfully she hadn't gasped or made any other sound that would betray their position. Alphard actually stopped breathing for a moment as Dumbledore made a funny movement as if he were to touch the wall—

After a tense moment of just merely studying the seemingly empty wall, however, Dumbledore strode away.

Alphard cautiously motioned Walburga to follow him. Luckily, they were no strangers when it came to hiding and sneaking—courtesy of their Father. They moved quickly and absolutely soundlessly.

After a moment Alphard spotted yet another empty classroom—Salazar, this was really not the way he had hoped to spend the evening.

As soon as they crept in, Walburga set up the wards, which were more powerful than the simple shield they had been using before.

"One would think that he'd actually stay with his star pupil instead…" she commented absently.

"He's done everything he could…it would be useless for him to accompany her to the Hospital Wing. He would only distract the mediwitch from her work."

"You were thorough, weren't you, Alphard?" Walburga demanded suddenly, for once showing genuine concern.

"I healed all the minor cuts and defensive wounds, so that there would be no awkward questions…I then got her distracted enough to put her under the Imperius Curse, performed Legilimency on her once there was no resistance and removed all superficial memories about the..._conflict_. The rest has been easy…I don't think I've missed anything. No," he paused a little, "I need to sneak into the Hospital Wing later tonight; the memory charm I used was insufficient. Some more mind magic needs to be performed, so that she would have entirely different memories about tonight..."

"Tom is looking into that," Walburga informed him curtly.

Alphard refrained from commenting.

Then Walburga smiled—it was a truly angelic smile that could have made her aristocratic features look unearthly beautiful, had she looked like herself at that precise moment. Instead such a smile made Alphard almost forget that it was his sister polyjuiced as Minerva and not the actual Minerva.

"You made her believe that you would help her, didn't you?" Walburga asked, "You were kind, gentle… You looked her deeply in the eye as you healed her wounds and assured her that you would _protect _her from _him_…that you had been merely pretending to be on _his_ side... I can imagine… You and Lucretia both possess this kind of charisma despite your silly obsessions with _Quidditch_ and _pink ribbons_… You know how to get to people, how to manipulate…even as you torture your victims, you make them easily believe that you have actually their best interests at heart…Stockholm Syndrome at it's finest. That is why _he _respects you, that is why _I respect you_, mon frère."

Coming from Walburga, this was almost like 'I love you'... His sister Walburga was tough, very tough. In the sixteen years of his existence Alphard had never once seen or heard Walburga cry—not even after an incident when she had endured the Cruciatus curse—a well-deserved punishment for disobeying their elders. Walburga was ruthless and emotionless and showed no kind feelings to anyone regardless of who they were—until now.

It was very strange, this affection. Alphard didn't know what to say.

"Next time you decide to bed someone I suggest a different approach. Playing the noble hero doesn't seem to suit you."

"Giving me _love advice_, are you, sister dearest?" Alphard shot back, wryly amused, "Ah, but of course, seeing how _experienced _you are compared to me…yes, I see how it's fitting for you to educate me on the matter."

Walburga shot him a look of pure loathing, for which he was glad; she was being herself again.

"No need to be so rude, Alphard, I was merely saying that playing the piano and organizing romantic dinners outside the school seemed to have been more effective after all… Perhaps you should stick to that, seeing as the whole family is now suffering due to your pathetic infatuation with that good for nothing whelp… What I don't understand is _why_? Why her?"

Alphard remained silent.

"You know, you will have to answer some time...if not to me then to _him_. So, tell me... What was it? It couldn't have been her intellect, for she's not exactly the brightest out there... It couldn't have been purely physical attraction...Or was it? Did you want to try a virgin for a change?"

"No need to be so cynical," Alphard snapped, "I thought...It doesn't matter...let's just leave it."

Walburga laughed derisively.

"You deluded yourself into thinking that you could _influence _her somehow, didn't you, you poor idiot?"

She stopped laughing for a moment.

"Certain people are born to mindlessly follow other people and Minerva McGonagall is exactly the type—in a few years from now she will be blindly following some Light leader like a little faithful lapdog—Albus Dumbledore, if we are to read the signs. She will never start thinking on her own...she's _not meant _for anything grand...she is nothing but a tool meant to be used by others and don't you dare to fool yourself into thinking the contrary."

"_Lapdog_..." Alphard repeated quietly to himself without really having heard the rest of his sister's speech... "Walburga, I think it's safe for us to go, but let's use Disillusionment Charm this time."

_He had to decide now; in fact, he had already decided._

"I need to go to the bathroom, you go ahead."

Walburga shot him a suspicious glance.

"Don't forget," she said, "You need to be prepared."

Then she exited the classroom, leaving him alone.

Alphard waited. As soon as the estimated time had passed, he also made his exit. Walburga must have already reached the Slytherin Common Room.

True to his word, Alphard went to a bathroom. He felt slightly sick, as if nauseous, whether due to Tom's curse or because of his marred conscience, he didn't know nor cared.

He retched over the sink, but couldn't truly bring himself to actually vomit.

He took a piece of parchment from the pocket of his robes. There wasn't anything to write with. He'd have to to transfigure something into a quill or a pencil. He spotted a part of a broken quill on the ground near the exit; fallen out from someone's schoolbag. That would do—only he'd have to transfigure it into a blood quill most probably—whatever.

Once he had everything prepared he sat down and wrote:

_Cher Jacques, _

_Les choses sont plus graves que je ne m'y attendais. Je quitte l'Angleterre. Demain après-midi, je serai arrivé à Cannes. Je t'expliquerai tout une fois que j'y serai parvenu. _

_Cordialement__. _

_A.R.B._

Now there was no way back. Trying not to picture Jacques's expression when he received a letter written in blood, Alphard stood up and quickly headed to the Owlery—it was now or never. Tom would be watching him very carefully.

xxx

_June 14th 1943, 10:55 PM, Mon cher imbécile, qu'as-tu fait?_

Orion had been playing chess with Cygnus—except neither of them had been really playing. It was quite late and they were only ones left in the elegant dungeon-like room.

Something very odd was going on tonight. The evening had started perfectly normally. At 9:00 PM Tom had started his patrolling, but then about ten to ten they received an urgent message from Tom, according to which someone had to impersonate cousin Alphard immediately because Dumbledore was coming.

Obtaining Polyjuice wasn't any problem, for Albertus Prince always had 'an emergency kit' hidden somewhere. No, it was getting the something of Alphard's that was the problem. Fortunately, Cygnus had managed to find something.

It was Dolohov who ended up impersonating Alphard—only his act had been so pathetic that Orion had half-expected Dumbledore to _kindly_ ask Dolohov to "stop this little charade and call down the real Alphard" any second, but it didn't happen…luckily.

What was even weirder, however, was the fact that neither the _real_ Alphard, Walburga, nor Lucretia had been seen at all—what was going on? He and Cygnus were both only thirteen, almost fourteen, so they didn't quite qualify to be full members of the 'Riddle Club' yet, but they were certainly smart enough to understand that something important had been going on.

Finally there was the sound of someone arriving and after a second the person became visible—it was _Minerva McGonagall_—the Gryffindor preacher whom cousin Alphard used to ogle at sometimes when he thought no-one was looking.

"Close your mouth, will you, baby brother, you look ridiculous," McGonagall barked; she seemed very irritated.

"_Walburga?" _Cygnus sounded very confused, Orion didn't understand either.

"No, it's me Herpo the Foul," she deadpanned, "Is there some brain damaging disease going around because I'm truly worried…first Alphard, now you. Excuse-me, I need to change."

She proceeded in the direction of the girls' dormitory without any further explanation.

"Well, at least we know it has something to do with Alphard," Orion commented absently, "What's wrong?"

Cygnus had just turned ghostly pale…

_« Merde, il est au courant de tout_ _! »_

Orion itched to ask _"who?"_ or at least _"what?" _but knew better than to demand something from Cygnus when he was nervous.

"Do you—need a Calming Draught or something?"

Cygnus paid him no mind, merely chanting '_merde' _and '_oh, shit'_ under his breath. He was very agitated...

The clock was absently ticking and it was soon close to midnight. Neither Orion nor Cygnus could go to sleep for their fright of missing something important. Orion succumbed into some kind of slumber, however, staring at the dancing flames in the fireplace. Cygnus had visibly calmed down, but his blue eyes were alert and watchful.

Five minutes after midnight there was some movement. Tom had arrived.

Instantly he spotted the two of them sitting by the fire over a chessboard.

"Where is your brother?" he addressed Cygnus abruptly.

"I don't know," Cygnus replied.

The older boy looked very angry, "You'd better not _lie_ to me, Cygnus."

"We don't know where Alphard is," Orion intervened, "We didn't see him come down here and we've been here since nine o'clock."

Tom directed him a cold stare, but after a moment he must have decided that he had been telling the truth for he walked away without saying anything else.

Orion carefully peeked at Cygnus, yet the latter's expression didn't reveal anything—something was definitely happening. First Cygnus got all freaked out, then Tom arrived looking absolutely maddened.

_Had Alphard done something? Judging from Walburga's earlier comment, it must have been the case, but what could have he done?_

Orion duly noted that Tom had settled down in an armchair—also waiting.

Fifteen past midnight.

Twenty past midnight.

_It was so quiet. _

Half past midnight.

_Everybody was sleeping, maybe they should go to sleep too..._

Thirty-five past midnight.

_Orion had started to become really sleepy...the flames in the fireplace were fully extinguished now..._

Forty-five past midnight.

Finally Alphard arrived. Lucretia didn't though—and where was she? Had the Mudblood taken her revenge for Lucretia's little show earlier in the evening? He somehow doubted that. He'd ask Lucretia when he saw her, but right now he was more interested in Alphard.

"It's three quarters past midnight, Alphard," Tom informed Alphard smoothly, "Surely, you didn't play hide-and-seek with Albus Dumbledore all this time?"

"No, of course not, I was merely helping Professor Kettleburn to take care of his pet Grindylows—he thought it was a good idea to sing them a lullaby. I agreed but it took a while. For some mysterious reason the Grindylows kept trying to strangle me, I honestly didn't know that my voice was that bad. But tell me Tom, shouldn't you be in the Hospital Wing?"

"I was allowed to leave after having some Strengthening Potion."

"What delightful news."

"Careful, Alphard, you are in no position to throw about your little jokes—you seem to have forgotten who you are dealing with."

"A sadist?"

Orion and Cygnus both gasped—and they were not the only ones—Walburga had come down...wearing..._a very sheer nightgown_... No! He hadn't just been ogling at his own cousin! What in the...? And Alphard had just shown _blatant disrespect_ to _Tom_ out of all people_._

Tom's eyes had narrowed dangerously.

_« Alphard, ne sois pas stupide! __Je t'en prie. »_

It was Walburga. Orion had never heard her speak like that before—Alphard, that ungrateful swine, must have done something _impardonable_.

"Let him, Walburga, let him speak his mind."

Walburga fell silent immediately.

"You would know everything about sadism, wouldn't you, Alphard? You know, your memory charm was quite inefficient, I had to perform quite difficult mind magic on her in order to correct the blunder you've made...in the process I got a swift of some of her emotions...and you know...she was so hurt after she discovered that all your promises turned out to be a bunch of lies...she had relied so much on you, hoping that you would help her...now that was truly _sadistic_..."

For a moment Orion thought he saw Alphard wince, but his characteristic grin was back in a moment.

_Really? What was wrong with him! This was nothing to grin about._

"It wasn't my blunder, it was yours" Alphard said.

"Pardon?"

"It was _your blunder_. Remember how you told me that there is no good and evil, there is only power...and those too weak to seek it...well, I agree, essentially, but you never paid enough attention to the _human factor_—to achieve power you need a human factor to collaborate with you no matter how much you despise it."

"And the meaning of this is…what exactly, Alphard?"

"It's quite simple actually—you need to get to know people, not just _flatter_ and tell them what they like to hear, but actually get to know them if you want them to obey unquestioningly."

"Really, are you suggesting that I should be everybody's best friend? I have _everyone _doing my bidding, Alphard, one way or another—I don't need to listen to anybody's pathetic daily troubles and hold their hands—and should I need it, that is why I have you—or do I?"

Tom's tone was suddenly menacing.

Everybody was waiting for Alphard to give his answer.

"Of course—may I be excused now?"

Alphard moved to go past Tom towards his dormitory.

"Not so fast, Captain," Tom said silkily, "I'm not finished yet."

"And what if I am?" Alphard challenged.

_He was truly crossing the line_. If Orion hadn't been worried before then he certainly was now.

"My, my, your Gryffindor girlfriend has had a very bad influence on you, my dear Captain—I'm afraid I will have to forbid you two from seeing each other."

"Aren't you being parental, Tom, caring for my well-being so much—how sweet."

"Well, somebody has to be parental seeing as you seem have no idea what's good for you."

Orion listened more intently; this here seemed to be more than their usual banter.

"_What's good for me_," Alphard repeated, "And what is _good _for me?"

"Maybe a round of _Cruciatus_, so that you would understand where you stand with me?"

"You think I've disrespected you, is that it?"

"It's obvious that you did. The question is 'why'—explain yourself!"

Alphard inhaled deeply.

"I have nothing to explain because everything that happened wasn't strictly my fault. You decided to keep _your heritage_ more or less in secret and this fact has led _me_ to miscalculations..."

"And you thought that you were _important enough_ to know that information? Well, I'm sorry to wound your ego."

"Don't worry, you're still as charming as ever — And yet, it doesn't change the fact that your secrecy was the reason that has led to this situation."

Orion noticed that Tom was losing patience.

"Need I remind you, Captain, that you were the only one who sang like a canary. Everyone else understood that they were to keep their mouths shut when I told them to be _discreet_, which makes it only _your _problem—and why is it that you can't obey my orders?"

"And still we can't get past the _human factor; _you see, one-word orders without any explanation are not sufficient for everybody, they might be sufficient for Crabbe and Goyle, but not for me."

"So you admit that it's about your ego."

"No, all I'm saying is that everybody needs a different approach—I would know, wouldn't I? After all, it's my specialty...to manipulate, to put the _right_ thoughts into people's heads for the sake of..._our _goals..."

"And that's all very well, Captain—except that your _actions_ don't support your claims and speak of treason instead."

"Melodramatic...aren't we Tom?"

And with that Tom had had enough. Orion had barely a second to cast _Protego_ as several alive flames similar to Fiendfyre sped towards Alphard's direction to burn him alive. Cousin Alphard had been ready though, he flicked his wand and a blue coloured shield exploded around him, covering him from head to foot. The fiery snakes that impacted with the blue bubble simply dissolved, but that wasn't all—Alphard soon retaliated with a mild blasting curse, which in a single wave smashed everything in sight and caused several cracks to appear on the enchanted window. As Slytherin Common Room extended partway under the lake, it was a really dangerous thing to do as the common room could have been flooded as a result of their duel. Orion was thinking if it wasn't better to call Slughorn, but the duel ended as soon as it had started.

"Not bad," Tom commented, "Although a bit extravagant."

"I had a good teacher," Alphard replied, "Have you considered teaching as a profession, Tom, you have a natural talent."

Orion couldn't believe it—one moment they were trying to kill each other and the next moment they were showering each other with compliments. _Were they perhaps testing each other?_

"Funny how you are trying to evade answering. I'm not sure if I should feel relieved or not. Finally you are showing some Slytherin tendencies, for sometimes I think that you act more like a _little lion _dropped to the Noble House of Serpents by mistake."

"Trying to evade? Salazar, no, how can you think that? And as far as my _gryffindorish tendencies _go, then it depends, don't you think? I mean _Slytherin _is all about politics, survival, position and schemes, but those are very often the reasons why Slytherin doesn't score—careful politicians overthink everything and in the end simply _don't do_ anything thus losing their full potential...But add a little _daring imagination_..."

"You have some nerve, Alphard, trying to convince me that your pathetic infatuation actually served for some kind of goal..."

"Well, we can always agree that you have trust issues, hence your uncontrollable desire to have everyone in line and reporting to you—that I actually have no problem with, but what I do want _changed _is your policy regarding the distribution of crucial information."

"Tsk...tsk...mind your tone," Tom's gentle tone was thoroughly laced with venom...it was _fascinating_, Orion made a mental note to remember this tactic, "You seem to have fallen under illusion that you're irreplaceable, Captain—even going so far as to _demand_ anything from me—but let me amend that. You are not irreplaceable. While you do have _potential _and certain _talents_, they are not unique and I can easily find people with equal abilities who are much easier to keep in line—so tell me, why should I bother to keep you around any longer?"

"Simple—there's no-one out there who can do what I can do just as well. Not cousin Lucretia, not my little brother—no-one."

"I could do very well without it," Tom spat.

"You could, the decision is yours" Alphard said indifferently.

"Careful there, Captain, that sounds like an ultimatum."

"How so? I was merely agreeing with you. I shall wait for your final decision. May I be excused now? It's getting really late."

"You may—until dawn. Then we will talk—till now I have shown you leniency, but I won't put up with your attitude any longer..._Despite _your talents."

"Until dawn," Alphard agreed.

"Remember Alphard, I'm keeping eye on you."

"And what are you staring at, children?" Alphard snapped at him and Cygnus instead of answering Tom. "Shouldn't you be in bed?"

"We're thirteen, not three," Orion snapped back childishly before he could stop himself.

"Forgive me, I will ask Uncle Arcturus to reserve you a nice table in the Seniors' Lounge the next time he goes to one of those Wizegamot parties—«Bonne nuit à tout le monde»he added as an afterthought—_idiot, as if any of them would be sleeping tonight!_

Orion's eyes locked with Walburga's and he was startled to see how put out she looked—she hadn't said a word after Tom had asked not to intervene, merely watching how Alphard was handling the situation—but the look in her eyes—Orion's opinion solidified: his cousin Alphard was an ungrateful miserable swine who thought only about himself. It didn't matter what Alphard had done—it was the fact that he _dared_ to do it.

When everybody finally went to their respective dormitories, Walburga sat down on the stairs, covering her face with her hands. Orion decided to remain with her.

xxx

_June 15th 1943, 8:50 AM, Mastermind behind the Plan_

She had cried so much that it came as a surprise to her that she still had tears left.

It was a beautiful morning. The sun had risen early and there wasn't a single cloud on the horizon. She didn't care. She glanced at the bed where Minerva still laid unconscious. It had been hours. Esther had come to the Hospital Wing at the crack of dawn—much to the annoyance of the mediwitch, but Esther couldn't help it. She had been seriously worried—Minerva had simply disappeared from Gryffindor Tower without saying anything to anyone. Still, Madam Láckning had said that it wouldn't be long now. The broken bones had been healed in a matter of seconds—there was only some kind of complication with her ribs—they had to be vanished and regrown—and, of course, tiredness; these were the reasons why her friend was still plastered to the bed. Nothing serious. That was good, it meant that Minerva would be allowed to go home tomorrow.

Esther sighed and turned back to the book she had been reading. There was nothing else to do but read in a place as serene as the Hospital Wing.

"_To prepare the Elixir of Life, also known as the Stone of the Wise, my son, you shall need to burn Mercurium until it becomes Green Lion. Burn the Green Lion and the Red Lion will sprang out of its hide. Bath the Red Lion in the poison of the grapes and the Red Lion…"_

She couldn't any more—it was too much—this was what happened when muggles described magic, no wonder that Wendelin the Weird liked toying with them so much. A giggle escaped her, despite that laughing in the Hospital Wing while her friend still unconscious was 'highly inappropriate', to put it lightly.

"Esth..r…!"

Esther promptly dropped the book.

"You're awake. You're okay?"

"H'r't's...w'ht...h'apnd?"

"You decided to try some wandless and broomless flying—wasn't very effective seeing as you ended up here—want some water?"

Minerva nodded. Esther helped her to swallow.

"Better?"

"Loads."

"How—Minnie, _how _could you fall like that?"

Minerva furrowed her eyebrows trying to remember.

"I wanted to find T-Riddle...Tom Riddle...and ask him about Hagrid...I remember Laveda...I found Tom, we talked—he explained how he found Hagrid—it was Hagrid, Esther, Riddle told me _exactly _how it happened—Hagrid didn't want to, but he domesticated some kind of monster—some crossbreed and it...it got away and attacked Myrtle, Riddle described everything—then I...I was very upset that Hagrid could do something like that and I was thinking about it—and then I only remember pain, that was when I fell—what's wrong with my ribs?"

"Erm...nothing, they're hurting because they had to be regrown, it must be the Skele-Gro that causes pain—how are you feeling otherwise?"

"Brand new, could go outside to play Quidditch right now."

"Don't let Madam Láckning hear that—she's, she sort of...doesn't want you to play...for a while..."

"What?"

"Don't worry, it's only temporary—I'm sure you'll be back on the team next year—and I'm sure that you'll win too—just careful with the ribs, alright?"

"Why aren't you at the breakfast, Esther?"

"Not hungry."

Minerva looked at her very sternly—_damn, if she's ever to become a teacher, she'll be scaring children with that look..._

"What?" Esther asked, already knowing that she wouldn't be getting out of this.

"Your eyes are red. You've been crying."

"So?"

"Because of me?"

"Because of you too."

_It was better to surrender._

"What happened?"

"Why have you never told me, Minerva?"

"About what?"

"About the difference between purebloods and... people like me?"

"Eh?"

"Wizard-born children inherit their magic from their parents, while Muggle-born get their magic either through a long-lost Squib line or it simply appears, correct?"

"It's a general perception, nobody is really sure, they are studying it in the Department of Mysteries...but, yes, supposedly correct, why?"

"Pureblood families develop and refine their magical abilities in very specific ways and often certain talents are developed, correct?"

"Correct, Esther, what are you..."

"In that way purebloods really are better—or if not 'better' then certainly 'different'. And if they are 'different' then it's only natural for them to be upset if they are forced into the same conditions as the Muggleborns, because due to the less than average curriculum they are wasting their potential. I never thought about it like that, but it's true—we're not equal, people are not equal."

"Esther, why are you saying those things?"

"I spent all my Hogwarts years raving about the injustice of it all without never really considering that there could be another side to the conflict..."

"Esther!"

"I dared to approach the Slytherin table yesterday at dinner... You never came to eat and I didn't know where you were... I'd thought I'd ask the Slytherins, since you've taken it into a habit to walk off with Tom Riddle...It was a stupid thing to do."

"Esther, what happened?"

Minerva's voice was gentler now.

"Lucretia Black invited me to sit with them."

"What?"

"I know—strangely kind of her, I should have known."

Esther sighed, it was better to cut the long story short.

"She was very polite actually, Lucretia, I mean—or I thought it was politeness at first—she told me that she didn't know where you were...but we started conversing and...I'm to blame, I started the topic...she told me about horrid things about how magical children—Muggleborns ironically—mostly Muggleborns, had been maimed by Muggles who feared magic...it's only natural I assume, since people fear the unknown...What I'm saying is that such emotional things fuel the hatred..."

She was rambling, Minerva would never understand if she didn't explain properly.

"I understood how worthless I am."

Esther shook her head trying to shake off that feeling of worthlessness; it wasn't even the fault of Lucretia Black, it was just that Lucretia was refined and broad-minded where Esther was ignorant, beautiful where she, Esther, was ugly, wise where she was stupid...little by little, bit by bit Esther had seen the difference and understood that she had never truly belonged to the magical world, it wasn't her place. No wonder Ignatius never responded to her feelings—she was worthless. Ignatius would like to see someone like Lucretia beside himself—even if she was a Black he still would prefer her and not Esther and it felt right.

"Esther, stop it, Lucretia probably told you something that got under your skin—selective bits of Wizarding history—"

"Minerva, stop it! Minerva, I've decided."

"Decided what?"

"I want to withdraw from the Wizarding World entirely, I can't stand anymore...prejudice...I just can't."

Minerva opened her mouth to argue, but then she must have changed her mind, "Are you sure?" she asked.

"I'm sure," Esther assured. This was why she appreciated Minerva so much—her friend was a perfect balance between Ravenclaw and Gryffindor, even if she was in the habit of giving everybody their fair share of sermons, she would always support you when you truly needed her...nobody could have asked for a better friend.

The doors opened and Professor Dumbledore entered.

"Ah, Miss McGonagall, how are you feeling?"

"Quite well, thank you, Professor."

Esther took the time to wipe her eyes as Minerva conversed with Professor Dumbledore. Dumbledore wanted to know the details of the accident and Minerva dutifully repeated the whole story to their Head of the House. It surprised Esther somewhat that Dumbledore pressed on every detail like that—what could have Minerva told him anyway? Accidents were called 'accidents' for a reason—they were unpleasant and impossible to predict. Once again, Esther was glad that there weren't any serious consequences.

The dreadful year had ended. Esther finally looked out of the window—it was a truly beautiful day.

Little did she know that a few meters behind her, there was someone else facing the same direction—someone invisible.

Tom Riddle was right there. Disillusioned, his magical presence carefully concealed.

So the mind magic he had performed on the annoying Gryffindor had worked. She had entirely different memories of yesterday. The Mudblood and the Moron weren't any threat either. Lucretia had done a satisfying job with altering their memories and making them believe in something entirely different—the Mudblood even wanted to leave the wizarding world.

Good—although it could have been better.

He had calculated everything so perfectly...If it hadn't been for Alphard Black...The captain had been gone by the time it was dawn. His room had been emptied out of all his things earlier—when Black had done that, no-one seemed to know, but Tom had known him long enough to admit that the boy could be rather resourceful when pushed. His siblings hadn't known where he had gone, neither did his parents if Slughorn was to be believed—and that, despite the precautions that Tom had taken. He'd placed both Avery and Lestrange to make sure that Alphard wouldn't slip away, but, no, the latter had managed to trick them and even make it seem as if the two of them had been duelling... Slughorn had been really dissatisfied. Well done, Alphard, well done. The Black bastard was truly lucky that he had suffered magical exhaustion after the ritual of creating a Horcrux—if it hadn't been for his exhaustion, he would have resolved the questions in a...different manner.

Alphard—he had truly been a disappointment: he had had so much potential with his empathic leadership abilities—had it been Alphard altering the Mudblood's memories yesterday, he would have made her want to commit suicide rather than just leave, but never mind. Tom had grudgingly learned his lesson—he would have to tighten the leash around his followers. Until today he had used means of communication based on the Protean Charm, but he would need something...more permanent, a constant reminder for whom they worked, to whom they belonged...branded into their very skin. There would not be another Alphard Black; should anyone else wish to withdraw, they would...face the consequences much more severe. Leniency wasn't appreciated after all, but taken for granted...well, no more.

xxx

_And so the year 1943 had ended revealing the first chink in the armour of the power of the Blacks. It was far from over though. No. Everything was only beginning._

* * *

**Author's**** note**: The first part of the chronicles is now over. All the recognizable characters belong rightfully to JKR. I would like to thank **TheMuser** - you are just as an amazing as always. Et merci beaucoup, chère **Tarpeia**, pour ton aide._  
_

Please review.


	5. Chapter Five

**Part Two **

_« A-t-on approuvé sa demande? »_

_« Oui, en effet. »_

_« Très bien, c'est tout ce que je voulais savoir. »_

_Cygnus stopped dead in his tracks. The voices were coming from his Father's study. The conversation was being carried in hushed whispers. Cygnus moved closer to the door that led to the study and listened more closely. The other speaker was Aunt Cassiopeia and they seemed to be speaking through the Floo network._

_Cygnus barely dared to breathe; he immediately understood what the conversation was about—it was important to listen and memorize, all his further decisions would be based on the information he was currently receiving..._

_Aunt Cassiopeia was talking again...They were arguing now..._

_So, this was how it was going to be...alright..._

_Finally, the voices ceased. The only noise that was heard was his Father throwing some object across the room in his fury. There was no point in listening further. Forgetting all about the reasons why he had ventured out of bed at this early hour in the first place, Cygnus turned around and silently climbed the stairs to go back to his room, where he would wait for his cousin Orion to come back. As the minutes passed, he felt ever more irritated with his cousin, as the latter had apparently decided to take a midnight stroll and forgotten to return._

_He had to calm down._

_As he mentally counted to ten, he inevitably recalled how it all had started. The worst had perhaps been the morning after—June 15th, what a wake-up—with Slughorn personally helping him to pack all his things before he had been hastily rushed to Dippet's office alongside his sister._

_So this was what had happened:_

xxx

_June 15th, 1943_

As the rest of the school was hastily leaving the castle, dragging their heavy trunks with them, Cygnus and Walburga were left behind_—_quietly standing in Headmaster's office, waiting.

Dippet's office was a large and beautiful circular room stuffed with numerous volumes of exotic looking books that would flow in midair changing their positions as if some purposely adjusted mechanism. In other circumstances Cygnus would have loved to look around.

The walls were covered with portraits of old headmasters and headmistresses, all of whom were snoozing gently in their frames. There was also an enormous, claw-footed desk, and, sitting on a shelf behind it, a shabby hat — the Sorting Hat — the very same blasted Hat that had suggested that Cygnus would do well in Ravenclaw. For one dreadful moment Cygnus had actually thought that he'd be forced to sit with those unimaginative geeks for the following seven years, but in the end the Hat had changed its mind and sent him to Slytherin…

Walburga's stifled sob quickly reminded Cygnus why they were in Dippet's office in the first place.

The door was pushed forcefully open and Pollux Black strode in imperiously, his black robes sweeping the floor behind him. He was a very tall man with pitch-black eyes and hard features, and at this particular moment he looked very intimidating.

"Mr. Black, good morning..." Dippet started anxiously.

"_Good morning_?" Pollux questioned, "I was notified that my sixteen year old son has gone missing from _your _school, Armando. I daresay not even Merlin himself could make this morning any good."

Dippet had the decency to look ashamed.

"I…you must understand, Mr. Black, it is highly unusual. Never once during my time of headship—"

"_Highly unusual? _Is that all you have to say? As I understand it, a murder was committed during your headship as well."

"Mr. Black, might I remind that it was not we here at Hogwarts that prompted your son's escapade. As for the tragic 'accident' concerning—"

"Armando, you are a man of grand accomplishments—and yet at the height of your career you fail to handle a bunch of teenagers—how is it possible?" Pollux asked with a mock concern, fully aware of the impact his words had on the elderly Headmaster.

"Pardon me, but I am simply unable to understand...Is it the fatigue, the old age? Your three hundred and fifth birthday is coming up soon if I'm not mistaken? Or are you perhaps suffering under some health condition—I'm sure the public would understand should that be the case..." the elder Black continued cruelly, all the while pretending to be musing out loud, driving Dippet on edge.

"That's enough," the Headmaster burst out, "I understand your concern about your son, but we are both men of position, certainly we can can converse without—"

"Be that as it may," Pollux continued as if he had never heard the other man's outburst, "You must understand that I am, in fact, sympathizing with you considering the circumstances. I take it you read the newspapers, Armando? Surely, you are aware that there is a war going on—what do you think will happen should my son run into Grindelwald's men?"

There was a tense silence. Pollux finally dropped the sarcasm, letting his fury show as Dippet desperately and uselessly tried to take control over the situation.

"Father, I am so sorry, please forgive me—"

It was Walburga who had spoken. Cygnus had a forceful déjà-vu of the last night, except that she hadn't spoken in French this time.

For the first time since he had entered the room, Pollux finally spared a glance to his children.

Both Cygnus and Walburga had been standing quietly in the farthest part of the circular room, observing his interaction with the Headmaster.

Walburga had been quietly crying the entire time. Even Cygnus had to admit—her acting was superb. Everybody had been fooled into thinking that she was falling to pieces due to the sudden disappearance of one of her younger brothers; even those who had been frequently humiliated by her swallowed the story without question. The only sensible person who had seen through her charade was Druella Rosier—actually Druella Rosier was sensible about most things when Cygnus thought about it.

Pollux walked over to the two of them, his eyes focused only on Walburga. Cygnus noted that his face was alight with the kind of pride he reserved only for his eldest child.

"Look at you," he said, grasping Walburga's chin and forcing her tear-stained eyes to meet his. "What a fine, responsible young lady you've become. I'm so proud of you."

Cygnus quickly looked down, so that his Father wouldn't catch him glaring. It was horribly unfair that Walburga was being praised when she had miserably failed in the task of keeping both of her brothers in line.

"I will have none of that," Cygnus heard his Father say, while noting that his tone had become remarkably colder.

It stirred his curiosity, he looked up.

Pollux wiped Walburga's tears with his thumb and while the action would have been considered a mere gentle gesture on behalf of a father consoling his only daughter, Cygnus knew better and saw the veiled threat underneath it—displaying emotions in public in such a tasteless manner was a disgrace and was not to be tolerated, even if it did play in Father's favour under the circumstances.

"Mr. Black, your daughter is greatly distressed—"

Dippet had been quiet, allowing the family to have a private moment— _idiot!_

"And whose fault is that, Armando?" Pollux asked lightly, still adoring Walburga with a loving gaze.

"Mr. Black, _please,_ that hostile tone will get us nowhere. We should be focusing on how to find out where your son could have possibly—"

"You're right," Pollux replied, abruptly turning and facing the Headmaster once again, "Talking will get us nowhere. It is _actions_ that are in order. I shall be contacting the rest of the school governors. In fact, I have already been in touch with several of them and those of whom I have spoken with agree that it is high time for you to retire. Do not be surprised to receive an Order of Suspension any day now."

Before the elderly Headmaster could reply to this announcement, Pollux took liberty to cast _Incendio _in the empty fire-place at the same time as he threw a handful of emerald-green powder into the flames. He then quickly motioned Walburga and Cygnus to come over.

They were going home, yet the surprises were far from over.

As soon as Cygnus walked out of the green flames, he was greeted by the familiar sight of the spacious living room of Black Country House.

He stopped to scan the room in hope to see something different about it. There wasn't anything. Through the tall mahogany French windows Cygnus could see the magnificent, yet very neat garden. The room itself was predominantly decorated in shades of dark green, yet Calacatta marble surfaces added some lightness and airiness to it. Everything spoke of the excellent taste of the owners—and of their coldness.

Cygnus suddenly felt himself being pushed and in the next instant he stumbled and fell face forwards.

Apparently he had stood for too long in front of the fireplace and Walburga, who had come next, had unintentionally bumped into him and caused him to fall.

"What do you think you're doing?! Get up!" she whispered urgently.

She was about to help him up as Father emerged out of the fireplace as well, sneering at the sight of the two of them crouching on the floor, limbs entangled.

"Go to your room, Walburga. I shall deal with you later," Father commanded.

Walburga obeyed immediately, relieved to get away, while Cygnus involuntarily shifted towards the exit as well.

"I didn't say that you could go, Cygnus."

_Of course._

Cygnus waited.

"Where is your brother?" Father asked.

"How should I know? Alphard didn't tell me anything. Why didn't you ask Walburga, maybe she knows?"

Pollux backhanded him, his ring slashing Cygnus across the face. Cygnus fell silent, instinctively bringing his hands up and touching the wound. His fingers came away covered in blood.

"_That_," Pollux whispered standing close to him, "Was for your cheek—now answer me."

"I don't know," Cygnus said stonily.

"You don't know, do you?" Pollux returned, his voice deadly calm. He leaned so close that Cygnus could smell his whiskey-staled breath.

"But then perhaps you know how brutal I am with Legilimency."

"I don't know, Father…I don't…," Cygnus almost yelled, starting to panic. He really hoped that Father wouldn't go through with his threat, otherwise he would be soon reduced to a wailing mess on the floor, pleading...

There were two types of Legilimency attacks: active and passive. Active Legilimency was quite painful, accompanied with an extreme headache and Father was unnaturally gifted at exploiting it.

Pollux waited.

"I…," Cygnus began to whine miserably before recalling the Quidditch World Cup a few years ago, "Try Jacques d'Aubernon or Azzurra Stregoni…they're friends."

"Look me in the eye," came the command.

Cygnus obeyed. It was just that he never knew where to look when Father was angry with him.

Usually, he settled for staring at his Father's forehead and sneaking occasional glances at the man's eyes. Looking away from his face as he shouted was almost like admitting to his fears, but looking at him would mean seeing all the disappointment and contempt—as if it was his fault in the first place!

"Very well, I'll look into that. Right now I suggest you retire to your rooms. We are hosting a luncheon tomorrow and you would do well not to look like an inferius."

"A luncheon?" Cygnus asked, astonished.

"Your sister has finished Hogwarts with nothing less than an _Outstanding_ in every subject," was the reply, "Not to mention that Bogdan shall be arriving as well."

"Bogdan?"

"Your sister's suitor—make sure you behave."

_Of course_—_ it was always about Walburga._

Cygnus suddenly wished nothing more than to find his Mother and talk to her. He stormed out of the living room and immediately started checking every room in the house.

For once, luck was on his side. After going through a few rooms, he found his Mother in the dining room. Apparently she was giving the House-elves instructions regarding the upcoming event.

"Remember, the tines must be pointing up, everything has to be strictly _à l'anglaise_…What else? Align the chairs so that they are spaced evenly down the side of table..."

For a split of a second Cygnus thought of clearing his throat to make his presence known, but quickly decided against it. He was already turning to leave as he heard his Mother call.

"Cygnus."

Irma's face lit up as she saw her youngest child.

"Come here," she instructed.

"Mother," Cygnus acknowledged smiling back.

"Goodness, you've grown so much since I last saw you," she looked at him, her blue eyes shining with unspoken pride.

"I missed you," he said quietly.

"Oh, Cygnus, how many times must I tell you? Don't antagonize your father—especially when he's upset—let me heal this."

Irma shook her head in desperation as she spotted the cut on her son's cheek, but didn't waste any time.

Cygnus kept still while his Mother healed the cut and cleaned his face of the dried blood. She looked tired, he noticed. As he looked more closely he also noticed the small beginnings of wrinkles—little laugh lines appearing on her face and little marks of worry on her forehead—for some reason it didn't feel right. It was as if these wrinkles were signs of some kind of _weakness_. And his Mother wasn't weak. His Mother was anything_ but _weak. She had always been so strong and stoic—always providing support, always resolving all the problems and conflicts regardless of their gravity, always being there for him...

"It's...It's not because of Father that Alphard left..." Cygnus started quietly—he didn't know how to explain, "It's just...something happened and...I mean...he would never just _leave_ like that...I...he said that he missed you too..."

Cygnus desperately wanted to say something better than this, but there wasn't anything.

Irma sighed.

"You are all so different," she said, "But to me you are all equally precious."

Cygnus wasn't sure what she meant, so he kept quiet.

"You know, I remember the day you were born," Irma continued in a same faraway tone, fixing her youngest child with a tender look, "It was—a very _difficult_ day in the history of our family—you are much too young, Cygnus, and I'm not asking you to comprehend it, but your father and I—we have been through a lot..."

"I don't unders—"

"You must have frequently wondered why your father locks himself up in his study when it's your birthday," Irma continued, cutting him off, "It has nothing to do with you, darling. Your father loves you even if he never says it. The reason of your father's avoidance has more to do with a past incident... We lost a family member that day, Cygnus, and no matter how much your father denies it, I know that his worst fear is to go through such an experience again—that is why he hit you today."

"It's not my fault that Alphard left," Cygnus yelled indignantly, "And why didn't he question Walburga? Why is it always me?"

"Because we both know that just like you, your brother would rather not reveal any of his secrets to your sister. Fighting with your sister is something that the two of you have in common...and your father knows it."

That was something that Cygnus couldn't argue with. He smiled despite himself before noticing that Mother looked even sadder than before.

"You have to understand that your father needed information as quickly as possible. Every minute counts," Irma continued to explain.

"Look, Mum, I'm sure Alphard's alright..."

"There's a war out there, Cygnus, and your brother has a dangerous tendency of overestimating himself," she said matter-of-factly, as if commenting the weather.

Then there was silence as Irma looked over the room as if trying to decide if it met the required standards.

Cygnus didn't know what else to say, so he decided to change the topic.

"Who's Walburga's suitor?"

"Pollux seems to think that it would be useful to have closer connections with Central Europe. Bogdan Grendersen is a very important wizard, closely connected to the Bulgarian Ministry of Magic and owner of several important businesses in Norway. His ancestors are believed to be amongst the founders of Durmstrang—the latter cannot be confirmed as many prominent wizarding families have long since died out in the male line, but there are many indications to support that theory."

Cygnus nodded—there was no way that a wizard could accomplish all that without having pursued such a position all his life.

"How _old_ is he exactly?" He asked, unsure how to feel about the whole affair.

"Slightly older than your father."

"Does Walburga already know?" Cygnus asked, fully imagining the answer.

Mother's heavy sigh confirmed his suspicions.

_Things only seemed to be getting worse_._.._

"Arcturus and Melania are visiting us tomorrow as well and they promised to bring their children along," Irma commented, trying to lift Cygnus's mood, who was now sporting a sour expression, his bottom lip curled.

_At least there was that—things were always more interesting with Orion around._

xxx

_June 16th, 1943_

_Did he say 'more interesting'—wrong choice of words!_

The next day had finally arrived.

Black Country House had never looked more lavish. Every surface gleamed and shone, every tiniest corner of the place was nothing less than eye-pleasing…the plates, goblets and the cutlery was of pure gold instead of the usual silver and small menus were lying next to each plate…These were little details, but they gave the place an unusually festive look.

The inhabitants of the house looked just as fabulous—except that every sane person would immediately see how tense they all were.

Cygnus had been wrong—there hadn't been any scandal the night before.

After the conversation between the two of them, Father had left the house. He had come home later in the evening, informing his wife that their elder son had been located and that he was currently in the company of Aunt Cassiopeia. Before Irma could ask any questions about his well-being or his whereabouts, however, Pollux demanded that Walburga be called down immediately.

Walburga had come as quickly as she could, her black eyes wide with apprehension. She had been pleasantly surprised, however, when she discovered that the reason why Father had called her down was not because he was going to punish her for Alphard's escapade, but because he had a present for her—a House-elf. A little elfling called 'Kreacher'—she should have known that there had to be a reason why their sire had been so uncharacteristically kind under the circumstances. Giving a personal House-elf as a present had important meaning in Wizarding society—it was a clear sign that the parent or guardian who decided to grace their child with such a present, considered the child to be adult and responsible enough to take care of another magical being. A House-elf could not be given to a mere child as a present because children could be very thoughtlessness with their orders, which in response could badly affect the whole family.

Knowing the reasoning behind the gift, Walburga had been delighted—she had almost run over and hugged Father for such a gesture, forgetting all dignity—but then Father revealed the real reason why he had decided to give her such a present. Her House-elf would be a reminder of home as she would marry a wizard whom Pollux wanted her to and consequently move to Norway.

Walburga had foolishly tried to challenge Father by asking what would happen if she refused to be courted by the wizard whom Father had chosen for her. In her fit of hysterics she even tried to refuse the present, but she quickly understood that there was no point in arguing. The marriage would eventually take place anyway and the elfling could be disposed of at any moment, should Walburga really not want it.

Instead of arguing, she had bowed her head in submission before cradling the elfling protectively in her arms and retiring to her rooms.

The rest of the evening had been very quiet.

Unable to bear any more of the tense silence that had been dominating the remaining family members, Cygnus had also gone to sleep early—what else was there to say?

In contrast to June 15th, however, June 16th turned out to be quite an action-packed day.

Uncle Arcturus and Aunt Melania had arrived already early in the morning, bringing along the ever-clumsy Lucretia and a sleepy-looking Orion.

Melania Black, neé Macmillan, was a seemingly charming, somewhat grandiloquent woman with a sharp tongue and eyes like a hawk. Cygnus knew that Mother wasn't all that fond of her—the Macmillan family was difficult to digest at the best of times and marriage to a Black hadn't really changed Aunt Melania's 'Macmillan side' all that much.

"Irma, my dear, how positively spiffing to see you," Melania exclaimed as soon as she got over the threshold.

"Likewise, Melania," Irma greeted cordially, "Arcturus," she nodded in direction of the current Black paterfamilias, giving him her hand to kiss.

"Oh, but where are my manners—you look wonderful, dear. This dress brings out the sapphire in your eyes most exquisitely," Melania continued in her overly exuberant fashion.

"Thank you, Melania, you don't look bad yourself," Irma responded modestly.

"Oh, for the love of Merlin, you still haven't learned how to properly respond to a compliment, have you? Some things never change—ah, but here comes your lovely husband," Melania responded, waving off Irma's clumsy compliment and finally taking notice of Pollux's presence.

"Melania," Pollux greeted, stepping forward and kissing her hand. "It's a pleasure to see you again after all this time, welcome to our humble home—cousin."

Father and Uncle Arcturus shook their hands in greeting.

"Pollux—just as gallant as ever, ageing suits you marvelously; it has only added charm to your otherwise good looks," Melania Black said, looking him over approvingly. "Family secret or not, but you Blacks are irresistible—your eldest son is quite the ladies' man as well, is he not—where is he, by the way?"

_Of course_, Cygnus thought, intently observing the adults. _She simply _had _to notice that Alphard was missing._

Cygnus quickly exchanged a fleeting glance with Orion. The latter shook his head subtly, meaning that neither him nor Lucretia had mentioned anything about what happened at Hogwarts two nights ago—_good._

"He's in France—with Cassiopeia," Mother elaborated in answer to Melania's question, before the conversation could take an unpleasant turn.

"Really?" Melania exclaimed, genuinely surprised, "Did he really leave so soon after the end of the term? You have to be careful; people will start thinking that you are having problems in the family…"

"It was Cassiopeia's idea," Father lied smoothly, taking over, "She needs someone to help her with some French connections and Alphard volunteered."

"Cassiopeia has always been very self-centered, that much is true," Uncle Arcturus confirmed.

"We must be boring the poor children with all this small talk," Pollux replied, not willing to discuss his sister.

Cygnus knew that his Father and Aunt Cassiopeia weren't particularly fond of each other but he didn't know the reason. Years ago—when Alphard had been somewhat of a decent brother, they would plot together against Walburga and spy on their parents trying to find out hidden family secrets. As hard as they had tried though, they had never really discovered the true reason behind the animosity between their father and their aunt. Cygnus always thought Alphard must have discovered _something_ in the end even if he didn't tell him, for he had once advised him to never get in between those two. From that Cygnus gathered that it must have been something serious.

"You're quite right, cousin," Arcturus agreed, "Though I recall its not only the children that get bored with all the small talk. Why take Dorea for instance! Had she been present, not a single word would have been able to escape our mouths—our ears would have been too busy digesting hers!"

"Oh Dorea is still an overexcited child, yes. And while I agree that it is high time she grew up, don't think I am beyond noticing your sly ways, cousin. Do not drag my side of the family into light only to cover up the stains on your own. It is unbecoming."

"Covering up the stains of my side of family? I don't think I understand, _cousin_—I am an outstanding member of the wizarding community and a highly honoured member of The Wizengamot, my brother Regulus has made quite a name at Gringotts and my sister Lycoris—"

"And our dearest Lycoris is very lucky indeed not to have been caught using her admirable talents in public", Pollux finished for Arcturus, "But don't you be alarmed, I'm convinced that your position will be able to save her once she oversteps the boundaries and actually goes as far as to kill some Mudblood in a broad daylight on the street full of witnesses."

"My, my some things never change indeed," Uncle Arcturus chided, "You were right, my dear," he said turning to his wife Melania, "But don't you fear. My sister Lycoris may be inventing curses that make its victim's knees bend backwards, but she is certainly clever enough to not go and start testing her progressive spells on a street full of witnesses."

"Aren't the two of you skillful conversationalists," Melania laughed, having observed the interaction between the Black cousins, "I'd hate to interrupt, but I'm simply dying of curiosity. Irma has told me so much about this house, I'd love to look around—Irma?"

"Yes, of course—I think that Orion and Cygnus wouldn't mind to leave us. And Lucretia, dear—Walburga is in her room if you wish to see her, a House-elf will show you the way. If you please, Melania, come with me, I'm sure that the gentlemen would like to use this opportunity to converse in private as well."

"Very thoughtful of you, dear," Pollux complimented, "Arcturus and I shall be in my study. After all, we have time; Bogdan isn't arriving until noon."

Orion didn't need to be told twice. As soon as the permission was granted, he followed Cygnus outside.

"Alright, tell me what's going on," Orion demanded, curious, "By the looks of it you are about to receive the Minister of Magic himself—surely, it's not for us that everything's so festive. Who's that Boggart anyway and why is your father waiting for him?"

"Boggart?" Cygnus snickered, "Be careful, by the way, you're developing the hawk eyes."

"Not funny."

Cygnus sighed—it was going to be a melodramatic day, he just knew it.

"It's Walburga's suitor. He is going to visit today."

"Walburga's—_who_?"

Orion was clearly at a loss. In the next few minutes Cygnus told Orion what had happened starting with the morning following Alphard's disappearance. He told Orion how Slughorn had woken him up demanding to know if he knew where Alphard was, how all the teachers were looking for him until they were forced to admit that Alphard Black had indeed gone missing from Hogwarts. He then told him how he and Walburga had been ushered to Dippet's office, how Father had arrived and humiliated Dippet and then how they had arrived home and how Father had announced that they were to host a luncheon as Walburga's suitor would be coming.

Orion listened intently, growing a little quieter than usual and not commenting much.

The rest of the time of relative freedom they spent simply wandering about the fields surrounding the estate, not doing much else. Soon they were called back inside, however; it was noon and the _special guest_ had arrived.

Cygnus's first impression was that he was seeing an overgrown Vulture. The man who had arrived was heavily built, round-shouldered and just as tall as Father even if far less graceful in comparison. He also had dark hair and dark eyes, but his skin was sallow, equipped with an abnormally large and curved nose and furrowed brows that gave him a constantly angry expression. While exuding a great sense of magical power, there was also something very off—even unpleasant—about him.

_How many could he have killed in his life? _Cygnus thought despite himself.

"Добре дошъл, Богдан!" Father greeted, shaking hands with the foreigner.

"Good afternoon, Pollux—but are you velcoming me to your country or to your home?"

"To both—is there a difference?"

"In Bulgarian, you say 'добре дошъл' when you are velcoming someone to your country, but you say 'заповядай' if you are velcoming them to your home."

"I'll keep that in mind," Father said, "Come, let me introduce you to the rest of my family."

Pollux was about to guide the wizard to the living room as the latter spotted Cygnus and Orion.

"These must be your sons—Alphard and Cygnus, yes?"

"Ah, not quite—only one of them is mine—Cygnus. The other one is Orion, son of my cousin Arcturus. You have already met him, I trust?"

Cygnus noted that the name of Uncle Arcturus mildly impressed the wizard.

"Hello, Sir," Cygnus said, his face morphing into the politest expression he could have possibly pulled off.

He made sure to bow slightly and to not offer his hand.

Wizarding society was very hierarchical and only wizards who considered each other equals shook hands—offering his hand to someone like Bogdan Grendersen when he was a _'mere child'_ would mean turning the whole event into a grand fiasco before they even made it to the table—something that Cygnus definitely wanted to avoid, especially considering the fact that Orion seemed to have developed some kind of a bizarre aversion towards the wizard at first glance and was now almost glaring at him instead of greeting him politely as etiquette required.

Before the wizard had the chance to take any interest in the children, however, Irma Black joined them as well.

Father quickly introduced the two adults to each other.

"You haff never mentioned how beautiful your vife is, Pollux," Bogdan complimented, but it was plain that he said it because it was required of him to do so, not because he meant it.

Cygnus seriously considered joining Orion in scowling—this idiot had no right to sneer at his Mother like this! And yet, he wasn't the only one—everybody was being horribly unfair towards the Crabbe family usually labeling them as 'plain' and 'obtuse' at the first sight. Guiltily, Cygnus had to admit that he didn't care much about it, but when it came to his Mother, it was personal!

Father must have noticed something like that as well because he made sure to rush everyone into the lavishly decorated dining room and for once Cygnus was glad that Father held so much authority.

The rest of their meeting wasn't much better. Walburga soon joined them, looking every ounce of a pureblood lady Father wanted her to look. Not only was there poise, but also the chiseled facial characteristics usual for their family worked in her favour on an occasion like this. For the first time in his life, Cygnus thought that he was unable to read her at all—as if he was one of Hogwarts' random students or something. It irked him because Alphard had taught him to pay attention to small details in appearance and posture that often served as tell-tale signs and enabled to see if the the person was actually nervous, angry or confident despite the impression he or she wanted to leave—with Walburga there was _nothing_ and thus Cygnus had no way of telling how she was feeling about her soon-to-be-fiancé. This Boggart Grendersen on his part didn't seem to be able find anything sneer-worthy about her; on the contrary, he looked as a businessman who pleased with the negotiations.

Walburga wasn't the only one who was full of surprises today though—Orion looked uncharacteristically serious, as if suspecting or disapproving, but it was also possible that his cousin was simply being grumpy because he had been forced to wake up early. Everybody who knew Orion long enough would know that he wasn't exactly a morning person.

"Is something wrong?" Cygnus asked quietly as the foreigner was being introduced to the rest of the family, including Lucretia who looked amused and Aunt Melania who looked as if she had just received new material for delicious gossip.

"Nothing, just sleepy," Orion replied dismissively, "What is there to order?"

Before Cygnus could answer, Orion had already grabbed the menu and started studying it.

On the other side of the table Lucretia was having a small talk with that Grendersen. In fact, Cygnus truly appreciated her presence at the moment because she mimicked Alphard's natural ability to put everyone at ease within seconds. Unlike her mother Melania, it also helped that she actually had brains to ask valid, even strategical questions and not just prattle polite nonsense.

Cygnus almost laughed out loud at Lucretia's attempts to wriggle out the location of Durmstrang from the older wizard. The attempt had not been very successful, for it was generally known that Durmstrang required an Oath of Secrecy from everyone connected to the place—this way Durmstrang Institute of Magic had maintained its exact position in complete concealment for centuries—but at least thanks to Lucretia's efforts, they now knew that the mysterious school had to be somewhere near Rypefjord in Norway, if the descriptions were something to go by.

Another interesting fact that they got to know about Durmstrang was that unlike Beauxbatons and Hogwarts, Durmstrang was actually quite international and welcomed everyone with a decent magical core and interest in the Dark Arts regardless of their origin—with the exception that your family tree had be traced as purebloods for at least three generations. The reason was simple: Mudbloods had very often a somewhat different magical core, which was incompatible with the type of magic taught in the Northern school. As a result, the teaching atmosphere in the school was quite different from that of Hogwarts, with students often conversing in Italian, Polish, Bulgarian, English and other languages depending on the country of origin. The curriculum itself was student-driven and professors tried to meet everyone's needs by handling each student individually. The students were usually divided into corresponding groups based on their magical power. The attitude towards the Dark Arts was also different; unlike in Hogwarts where dubious practices were frowned upon and hence not looked into, in Durmstrang the students were encouraged to study and discuss various impacts of somewhat darker spells and curses before they were granted a permission to practice them.

Surprisingly, Cygnus found himself to be truly enjoying the conversation, eagerly taking in every new detail, but all too soon they smoothly moved to the topic of politics in connection with the Dark Arts. The latter meant, however, that the conversation turned more serious and only after a moment they were already discussing Gellert Grindelwald.

"What is your opinion about Grindelwald's ideas?" Orion asked bluntly, conveniently dropping the _'Sir,' _and_ 'could you please tell us…'_

Bogdan Grendersen raised an eyebrow at such ill-formulated question, which bordered on blatant disrespect. Orion must have gotten the hint.

"Please, Sir?" Orion amended at the same time as Uncle Arcturus fixed his son with a sharp look—whatever Orion's problem was, he'd better be careful not to embarrass Uncle Arcturus if he didn't want to pay the consequences.

Cygnus kicked him under the table.

"Vell, since you ask so _nicely_, as the polite young man you are," Bogdan began, his voice dripping with sarcasm, "I vill tell you. Gellert Grindelwald used to be extremely talented. Several professors at Durmstrang remember him as a pioneer in the field magical potency. He vould bend the potency of magic, making the shields, spells and curses tenfold more poverful. Had he chosen to pursue an academic career, he vould haff von numerous avards and prizes and he vould haff been a much sought out professor…with Hogvarts and Beauxbatons both competing to haff him."

The wizard sipped his wine and was silent for a moment.

"It vos not meant to be, however," he continued, "I think that he lost himself in his ambitions. He became obsessed vith some nonsense that doesn't even exist, searching for it...frustrated, he became very violent vhen he didn't find vot he vos looking for. Nobody knows vot is it that he vanted initially...those people vho knew him as a young man haff long since been murdered and nobody has lived to tell the tale...The rest of the story is vell known: votever it vos that he vanted to achieve must haff been very inspiring because people started following him...yet as the goal is no longer there, the war has become pointless. Still, regardless of Grindelwald's initial ideas, I find that this war is very beneficial."

"Could you please enlighten me, Sir? What could possibly be _good _about a pointless war?" Orion asked, this time with a note of a false politeness, while the way he structured his sentence clearly indicated that he thought the Bulgarian wizard to be clueless about politics.

Whether the said wizard heard the jab or not, Cygnus didn't know because he replied in a very patient tone.

"Wars are cleansing," he said, "Wars vill vipe away those vho are veak and the strong vill come to take their place."

"In other words you are implying that it's easier to take over other men's position once they've been murdered instead of working one's way up using clever manipulation and intelligence, is that it?"

But with that Orion had finally gone too far. Aunt Melania and Lucretia were both shocked at such poorly veiled insults towards the older wizard, Cygnus choked on his drink...Walburga finally glanced up from her plate, disbelieving...Father calmly assessed the situation, his black eyes darting between Orion and his guest...

Uncle Arcturus, on his part, wasn't going to tolerate his son's provocative behaviour anymore.

"Orion!" Arcturus Black warned, "Your poor choice of words might leave the wrong impression if you aren't careful..."

"I'm sorry, Sir, I didn't mean to insinuate anything..." Orion hastily apologized, "Perhaps I misunderstood you...if you would kindly explain what you meant by saying that this war is beneficial..."

Bogdan now fixed Orion with a chilling look.

"I do not see the need to _explain_; in fact, I should think that I vos very clear" he said, "Surely, child, even you agree that the veak, the Mudbloods and the filth need to reigned in? Viping out some of them helps quite efficiently...not to mention that it creates the kind of terror that opens up many possibilities..."

"Of course I agree, Sir, but I think that wars are rather unnecessary when the desired effects can be achieved with skillful political campaign, otherwise things might get messy—not to mention that both sides of the conflict always end up bearing losses. In fact, it's just like you said: it's easy to lose oneself when it's war. I truly respect your opinion in that sense, Sir."

Cygnus could tell that Orion was simply trying to make amends before the conflict escalated, hence the hasty and hardly believable flattery. Naturally, Bogdan didn't buy it.

"My son is rather interested in politics," Uncle Arcturus said, taking up Orion's lead at the same time disappointedly registering that Orion still had a lot to learn when it came to diplomacy, "But unfortunately he is still young and foolish—and apparently neither does he know the norms of international conduct. I shall fix that soon enough, for now I simply apologize on my son's behalf. I assure you that he didn't mean to offend you in any way."

"I would like to offer my apologies as well," Pollux Black cut in, "But let us not be bothered by something as insignificant as my little relative's wrong interpretation of the ideas that he is yet too young to understand. After all, you are a guest in this house, Bogdan, I truly hope that your stay will be as pleasant as possible."

The foreign wizard nodded his head in accordance.

"Oh, do not you worry, I took no offense from this unintelligent child. I do have a suggestion, however—I am not sure about the traditions at Hogwarts, but at Durmstrang there used to be a tradition of staging various plays concerning the events of vizarding history—in case there are still plays at Hogvarts, I suggest you send this young man to play some poorly misguided defendor of the Goblin rights. This way he vould find an outcome for his overly dramatic personality because frankly, he vill never make a good politician at this rate."

Orion flushed in anger and embarrassment, but knew better than to defend himself.

"In any case, I vos simply saying that one vould be a complete idiot to not reap the benefits from the chaos of war, surely you agree with me gentlemen?" Bogdan continued calmly.

"Absolutely," Uncle Arcturus agreed, "Chaos and general panic provide many opportunities. People are confused and don't know whom to trust. A skillful politician would know how to turn such a situation to his favour. Many outstanding members of our community have risen to power that way—make sure to learn from this incident, son," the Black paterfamilias added, his tone a bit clipped while addressing Orion.

They continued discussing politics before the conversation topic gradually changed and took a more pleasant direction.

Cygnus wasn't really listening anymore, although he was mildly impressed with Uncle Arcturus's ability to carefully dominate the whole direction of the conversation. The rest of the meeting wasn't all that interesting. Instead of listening to whatever the adults were talking about, he focused on Orion who now only had eyes for the Rakfisk on his plate. Cygnus honestly couldn't fathom what the hell could have brought on Orion's hostile attitude in the first place.

To be honest, he wasn't all that fond of the wizard either, but Orion had taken it way too far—who would have thought—the ever-composed, smooth-talker Orion challenging a foreign wizard thrice his age like that.

Cygnus didn't know whether to groan or laugh_—_when he had hoped that things would be more_ interesting _with Orion around, he didn't mean anything remotely like his cousin throwing veiled insults at his Father's guest of honour, even if he was secretly supporting Orion—the wizard deserved to be brought down a notch. He really hoped that Orion would come to his senses soon though because frankly, he was sick of all the recent unpleasant surprises. He certainly didn't want to have any more trouble—Alphard's fiasco had been more than enough.

xxx

_Never mind; it had been only the beginning of the summer break. Now there was something more important to think about._

_In the safe darkness of his room, Cygnus finally managed to calm down and process what he had just heard._

_What had they said?_

_Father had asked if they had approved the application._

_To which Aunt Cassiopeia had replied that 'yes, they have'_

_Wait a minute—they had approved the application, which meant that…_

The door opened soundlessly, Cygnus rather felt than heard another person carefully tiptoeing towards the other bed.

"Had a good midnight stroll?" Cygnus asked scatchingly from his dark corner and was pleased to see that Orion had painfully hit his toe against something and was now jumping in pain.

"What the hell are you doing up so late?"

"What the hell are you doing wandering about the house so late_—_especially if you are a guest here?"

Orion stuttered something in response.

"Look, I didn't mean to..."

"Never mind, did you overhear something useful at least?"

Orion must have grinned at that, Cygnus wasn't sure for he didn't see his face, but he'd known his cousin long enough.

"Is that a trick question, Cyg? I mean you just went bonkers because I was missing, what would you say if I had been spying on your family members as well?"

"Don't flatter yourself, I was merely saying that you would have been in trouble, had Father seen you creeping around at night like that_—_not to mention that it would have been the last time you're allowed to stay here_—_or perhaps you want to return home to witness Lucretia snogging her Gryffindor moron?"

"That was was unnecessary, Cygnus," Orion said flatly.

"I'm sorry."

And he was_—_he hadn't meant to bring it up. Apparently, Lucretia took liking to Ignatius Prewett during the task that Tom had assigned to her_._ The bad thing was that Lucretia had taken her interest rather far_—_even as far as using the fact that both sets of parents were closely connected to the Ministry of Magic to get close to the moron. Only one summer had been enough for the two of them to become more than just friends.

Orion had not taken kindly to that, but the worst thing was that both Uncle Arcturus and Aunt Melania approved of their daughter's relationship with the moron. After all, he was a pureblood and from a good family.

Being as frustrated as Orion was after having spent some two weeks in the Gryffindor's company, he fire-called Cygnus and Cygnus quickly asked Father to allow Orion to stay with them for the rest of the summer. Father had been reluctant at first, but then he must have decided that Cygnus would be prone to cause fewer problems if there was something that would appease him.

Right now it was the end of August and Orion had already spent a month with them, which seemed to suit everyone just fine_—_Uncle Arcturus and Aunt Melania were too busy anyway to even notice that their son was missing, while nobody from Cygnus's own family seemed to mind Orion's presence_—_strangely, not even Walburga.

"Don't worry, I know you didn't mean to," Orion waved the apology off, "To answer your other question though, then, no_—_I haven't overheard anything useful."

"I have," Cygnus almost whispered.

Orion didn't ask what, simply waiting for Cygnus to explain; knowing him as well as Orion did, he had definitely noticed the change in Cygnus's tone.

"Alphard isn't coming back," Cygnus said at last.

"Isn't...But...What about his final year at Hogwarts_—_he has to come back!"

"He's been accepted to Beauxbatons. I just overheard Father floo-talking with Aunt Cassiopeia."

"How is it possible?" Orion demanded angrily, "Beauxbatons hardly accepts anyone who isn't French!"

"I'm not sure_—_I'm assuming that the d'Aubernon family pulled some strings, but neither would I put it past Alphard to manipulate someone else into helping him."

Orion must have been processing this information, for he didn't comment.

"Beauxbatons, eh?" he rhetorically asked at last, disgusted, "I'd hate to think how it will make dear old Alphard's head swell...with all those French girls fawning over a _'handsome English wizard'—_it's not every day that Beauxbatons accepts a foreigner just like that..."

"Never mind him," Cygnus cut off irritably, "Think of where it leaves us!"

Orion understood.

"You mean Riddle's Club, don't you?"

"We will be the only Blacks left at Hogwarts with Lucretia and Walburga both having graduated and Alphard attending Beauxbatons..."

"Do you think he will be focusing on you now?"

"You've noticed how he's always singled me out, haven't you?"

"I have," Orion nodded.

It was a little bit lighter now and he could actually see Orion's facial expression_—_Cygnus saw that Orion was thinking hard.

"If you want me to, I could try and make him focus on me instead..."

"You would do that?" Cygnus asked, somewhat touched.

"I would_—will—_I will try my best, but..."

"But what?" Cygnus asked.

"Tom...he...he likes challenge" Orion explained, "You know, Cyg, my Father takes me quite often to the Wizegamot parties_—_and sometimes also to hearings. I simply watch and learn, nothing else. What I'm saying is that Father has taught me how to classify people based on all the hints in their behaviour and thus I think that Tom is the pursuer type_—_he will pursue anything that offers resistance until he gets it_—_and only then will he lose his interest, which means that he will probably not leave you alone even if I try and get close to him."

"Are you going to help me though?"

"Of course I will."

"You know, I think it's rubbish what that Boggart is saying_—_I think you will be a good politician."

"Of course, I will!" Orion exclaimed indignantly, repeating his previous exclamation with far more conviction, "I can't believe that you listened to him!"

"Relax," Cygnus replied, taken aback, "I'm on your side_—_I simply can't understand why you are taking it so personally...You were the one who started suggesting that he's incompetent, not able to use intelligence to achieve his goals...Whether you like it or not, but you brought the insults upon yourself."

"I don't like him," Orion said as if that explained everything, "There's something fishy about him and I will get to the bottom of it."

"Orion," Cygnus started carefully, "I don't like him either_—_you know that_—_but I know my Father and I can assure you that Father wouldn't have let him come as close to us as a thousand miles if there was something off about him..."

"Still," Orion said stubbornly, "There's something...there _must be_ something..."

"All right," Cygnus conceded, recognizing a lost cause, "If you want to play an independent Auror, be my guest, just don't forget to give me a hand with Tom because he will be far more important than Boggart once we return to Hogwarts."

Orion nodded absently, no doubt thinking how he would bring down the Bulgarian wizard, but Cygnus knew that Orion would keep his promise, so he didn't insist.

_Would Orion's efforts be enough though? After all, it was Tom Riddle whom they were dealing with..._

They would soon find out. In a week from now they would be boarding the Hogwarts Express.

* * *

**Author's note**: Not much of Tom in this chapter, but the boys will be returning to Hogwarts soon. I take the opportunity to give my usual "thank yous" to my muses - merci beaucoup, mes chéries - and leave my usual disclaimer: all the recognizable characters belong to JKR.

Please review. Reviews are essential for every writer. I saw that this story has been clicked on really a lot, so please don't be shy to share your opinion, it only takes a minute to leave a review.


	6. Chapter Six

_Je cherche dans ce labyrinthe la vérité,_

_elle n'est plus là,_

_elle n'a jamais été là._

* * *

_The dusk fell, adding a mysterious, romantic touch to the narrow cobbled streets of Little Hangleton. The usually pale grey sky was now a burgundy red. The sun hadn't yet entirely disappeared, but pale silvery stars were already gliding into their places._

_A gentle breeze stroked Mary's face as she inhaled deeply, enjoying the moment. The little village where she had grown up had never looked more beautiful. The air was warm with the faint aroma of tulips. Everything was shadowy and sweet. It was that wonderful moment where for once the world didn't seem such a miserable and darkened place—a moment where Mary believed that anything could happen, anything she believed in…_

_These were selfish thoughts, Mary knew that. Yes, her employers—Mr. and Mrs. Riddle—were rich, snobbish, and rude. Their grown-up son Tom was even worse. No matter how much she tried to please them, they would only snarl at her, but it didn't mean that there weren't worse things out there. She had a good job and a good family. The war hadn't disturbed their lives in the slightest. It was something to be grateful for._

_Still Mary wasn't happy. Her other job wasn't much better. When Mary wasn't slaving for the Riddles, she was working part-time at "The Hanged Man", the local pub._

_Today was an ordinary evening full of jolly, drunken villagers, one moment brawling and the next moment forgetting all about their disputes—or at least so it had seemed._

_Rory the Scotsman was already ordering his eighth beer alongside with his "aye, lass, come intil the body o the kirk, eh?" when the door opened and she saw him—a young man, slightly younger than her, very handsome…_

xxx

Ever since Tom Riddle found out that he was a wizard, he had become obsessed with his ancestry.

Mrs. Cole hadn't told him anything, except that his mother had died an hour after he was born and that he was named after his father.

_So who were his parents?_

He had to know.

And so he had started searching.

For years he had been trying to trace his family name in all wizarding genealogies he could have possibly gotten his hands on, even going as far as to carefully study the family history of each of his peers—perhaps he was distinctly related to the Blacks or the Yaxleys—who knew? But, no; none of his researches yielded any results. The wizarding genealogies had all come up empty. The surname 'Riddle' simply didn't exist. At last he had been forced to start searching among Muggles.

The thought sickened him.

_He was descended from the very same Muggles that loathed his very existence_.

Regardless, Tom had virtually looked up every 'Ryedale', 'Riddall' and 'Riddell' in the country, studying the history of each family starting from the Middle Ages. He carefully traced the surname 'Riddle' as it changed through time. In the end he discovered that the only living 'Riddles' could be found in two locations: Appleby and Little Hangleton, both located up north of the country.

Tom first visited Appleby, which turned out to be a small bleak town in the county of Westmorland. The only 'Riddle' living there was a solitary old maid who had never been married nor ever had any children. One look at her was enough to understand that she had no connection to him.

He hadn't wasted a second; he immediately left for Little Hangleton, instinctively knowing that this time he would be meeting his '_family'_.

He had arrived at dusk.

At first sight the place looked very much Appleby. Narrow cobbled streets were lined with plain looking brick houses, the majority of which had no light coming from the windows. Some of these dwellings had signs on them indicating that they were small provincial shops.

The village looked grey and lifeless.

Tom soon found the pub, which seemed to be livelier at this late hour than the rest of the area.

The place was simply disgusting, there was no denying it; the strong scent of alcohol was everywhere, but regardless of how much those pathetic drunken Muggles sickened him, he had no other choice but to go in there and see what he could find out.

As soon as he entered, he spotted a barmaid, an unsightly Muggle girl who looked like she was in her early twenties. She was the only one who looked sober.

Tom quickly cast a _Confundus _on her and made sure that no-one else had seen him enter.

His charm ended up attacking her with a little more force than necessary.

"Ow," she exclaimed as she felt a sudden stabbing pain in her forehead.

The glass of ale that she had been holding slipped from her hands and shattered into pieces, amber liquid spilling all over the floor.

Tom quickly rushed to her—it was time to 'get acquainted'.

"Are you alright?" he asked, concerned.

"Aye, I'm alright, thank you—wait, have teh clean up now."

She quickly left only to emerge with a mop a moment later. Tom noticed that she was studying him, taking in his appearance, apparently liking what she was seeing. Her cheeks tinged pink as he flashed her friendly smile.

"Do you need help?" he asked out of politeness.

"Nah, already done. Raight, can I get thee something?" the girl asked in return as she put the mop into the corner.

"Gladly," Tom answered, "But I'm afraid you will have to tend those two first. They were calling for you earlier."

He subtly motioned towards the two drunken Muggles at the nearest table. They were both salivating over their half-empty glasses, drool actually dripping from the mouth as they struggled to sit up straight.

Her gaze followed the direction towards which he had been pointing.

"Eh, it's Rory and Mike, they'll be dragged out of 'ere…no ale for them anymore—so what I get thee?"

"Just a glass of water please—I just dropped in here to have a rest. I'm travelling around the country, you see."

"Eh, explains why I never saw you before. Where tha from?"

"London."

Her eyes grew wide as if he had just said something very exciting.

"Ooh…I've heard that Britz hit London, they said so in the radio, is it true? Nothing like that 'appened 'ere."

Tom couldn't help but cringe a bit_—how stupid could she be? The Blitz had hit London almost two years ago and she was reacting as if it was something sensational, not to mention that she couldn't even pronounce the term correctly._

She bit her lip as she saw him cringe.

Good. Maybe it would even play in his favour—evoke some sympathy in her and make her more talkative. The sooner he found out about the 'Riddle' of this village, the better. He didn't want to stay in this stinking stable any longer than necessary.

"Yes," he answered, his facial expression morphing into something close to sorrow, "The _Blitz_ did hit London. They say that over thirty thousand bombs were dropped—I honestly don't know if it was that much, but a large part of the capital is pretty much in ruins. Many people died. It was truly awful. I barely survived myself, it still haunts me."

"Oh…I didn't—"

She never finished her pathetic hypocritical apology as one of the drunken men suddenly shouted, "Rubbish…I say they make it up to raise the taxes….back in my day…"

"Oh, shut up, Derek, go back to your gin and let me talk 'ere," the girl snapped at him.

"Talk to whom, girl, there's no-one 'ere but me. Y'talking to yerself over there."

_That's right. _

Tom had made sure that no-one else but the barmaid would see him.

_Perhaps it had been a miscalculation_?

As his mind was already working on how to correct a possible mistake, it was the barmaid herself that quickly disregarded the idea of her having any 'visions'.

"Tha had too much tonight, go 'ome," she shouted back to the man before turning her attention back to Tom.

"I'm sorry," she said, "That's awful what tha tell me—and I thought it was bad 'ere."

"Really? Why? It seems like a nice place. The nature is very beautiful, people seem very friendly…It's peaceful..."

"It's dull," she spat, "Nothing ter do 'ere, see, I want to be singer, not a maid and a bartender, but there nothing else to do 'ere."

"So, you have two jobs at once. It must be very challenging. I should follow your suit."

"Oh no, it's nowt, nuisance if anything. 'Ere it's not that bad, but at the Riddles' it's awful."

"At the Riddles?"

_Well, that was a rather fortunate coincidence. He would have to keep his voice neutral now._

"Aye, they live in the grand mansion, atop the 'ill, very rude…"

"I'm sorry to hear that. Surely, they can't be all that bad? I don't believe it. How could anyone be rude towards such a nice girl like you—not to mention such a pretty one? What's your name, by the way? I realise only now that I haven't properly introduced myself. I'm Williamson. Williamson Rankin."

Predictably, she blushed crimson at that and started giggling.

She looked somehow even more hideous when she did that, nevertheless she took his hand.

"Such a peculiar name…I'm Mary," she said battling her eyelashes, "Ohm…yeah…where were we?"

"Your unfriendly employers." Tom prompted, "Surely, they're not that bad?"

"They are," she assured, "They are stingy and mean and always yell at meh. But tell me, why did tha choose to come up here from London?"

"No special reason. I have never been in this region before and I was curious what it was like— "

"'Ere's nothing, trust me, it's a little place where everybody knows each other. Tell me better about the Britz…radio said that there were holes in the ground…"

_That was it. He couldn't take it anymore. She was keen on turning the conversation back to the London bombings, which had taken place ages ago. If he tried to turn the conversation back to the Riddles, it would look suspicious. It was better to leave it. He was sick of her anyway and he had gotten all he needed already._

"There was much more than just 'holes' in the ground," Tom said, suddenly sombre.

He leaned closer to her, whispering dramatically, "Do you know what was worse?"

"No, tell me!" she begged breathlessly.

"_Obliviate."_

Mary's eyes became unfocused. By the time her brain started registering her surroundings again, she had already forgotten all about the handsome stranger whom she'd seen in the pub. Nobody else ever saw nor remembered him either. It was as if the visit had never occurred.

xxx

"_Aye, they live in the grand mansion, atop the 'ill, very rude…"_

That was all she had said. He'd known where to go right then.

As he started walking towards his new destination, the road became narrower and wilder, branches of trees obscuring his vision.

By the time Tom reached the outskirts of the village, the cobbled stones had disappeared entirely. There was no road anymore, only a narrow thin line paved by people who had repeatedly walked along it.

Suddenly, he heard a familiar _slithering_.

An ordinary Grass Snake.

It made sense; there was water nearby. Grass Snakes were even sometimes called 'Water Snakes' because they spent a lot of time in water.

"**Stop**," Tom hissed in Parseltongue.

The snake obeyed.

"**Slide over here**," Tom commanded.

The reptile obeyed again, this time surveying her commander.

"**You are not my Master, but you can speak...I have never encountered any other of your kind who could speak. Only Master.**"

"**Take me to your Master,**" Tom whispered in a hiss, his heart starting to beat louder, anticipation taking over.

_If that creature's 'Master_' _was Parselmouth, it could only mean that the man was related to him._

At that precise moment Tom thought that perhaps the man who had given him life wasn't a Muggle afterall...

Now he wanted to laugh at the idea.

"**Master does not wish to encounter any of your kind. Why is it that you seek him?**"

Tom's patience was growing thin.

"**Lead me to your Master or I will end your existence**," he hissed menacingly.

"**Follow me**," the snake replied, already slithering away.

Tom followed hastily, yet every step he took, left him ever more appalled.

He was led down towards a small hideous shack, half-hidden amongst the tangle of trunks and held together only by magic. The massive trees hid the place from the inhabitants of the valley below, which was ironic because it was plain that nobody would have ventured there in the first place—nobody except him.

As he approached the front door he saw that there was a snake nailed to the door.

His disgust rose even further, last traces of excitement and anticipation leaving him entirely, and yet that had been _nothing_ compared to what the place looked like on the inside.

The house consisted of a single room, which was obviously meant to be used both as a living room and a kitchen, although neither of these had been serving their rightful purpose for years. Every surface was covered with a thick layer of dust. The ceiling was thick with cobwebs, the floor coated in grime and sand; mouldy and rotting food lay upon the table amidst a mass of crusted pots. The smell of decay was overwhelming. The wooden furniture seemed to be alive with rot and insects.

It was very dark; the only light came from a single guttering candle placed at the feet of a savage-looking man.

The man's hair and beard were so overgrown that it was impossible to distinguish the face. The man had been slumped in an armchair by a long disused fireplace, seemingly asleep or dead, but Tom's arrival had jerked him awake.

Tom reacted immediately as the man gave a wild roar and sprang up, raising a wand in his right hand and a short knife in his left.

"YOU!" the man bellowed. "YOU!"

"**Stop**," Tom hissed calmly, slipping to Parseltongue.

The man skidded into the table, sending mouldy pots crashing to the floor. He must have been drunk, for he seemed to have a difficult time processing what was happening. He stared at Tom.

There was a long silence while Tom looked at him contemplating what to do—no, this _couldn't _have been his father. This drunken savage who didn't even resemble a human. Tom refused to believe it.

Finally, the man broke the silence.

"**You speak it?**" he asked hoarsely, disbelieving.

"**Yes, I speak it**," Tom confirmed.

Tom cursed himself for momentarily letting his guard down in his impatience to meet Riddle Senior... In his haste he had chosen a completely wrong approach. The surname 'Riddle' had never existed among the wizards, he'd known that, but his middle-name 'Marvolo' had been frequently used some centuries ago... and middle-names were usually chosen in the honour of the _grandparents._

_Yes, this was it... He simply hadn't seen it before... It was disgusting, but there was no other explanation._

"Where is Marvolo?" Tom tentatively asked.

"Dead," said the other. "Died years ago, didn't he?"

Tom frowned.

"Who are you, then?"

"I'm Morfin, ain't I?"

_Morfin?_

"Marvolo's son?" Tom inquired, drawing the only possible conclusion.

"'Course I am…"

Tom watched as the man, Morfin, pushed the hair out of his dirty face to take a better look at him. Tom's eyes caught something glittering—an ancient looking black-stoned ring on the man's right hand. Something so seemingly precious looked very out of place.

"I thought you was that Muggle," Morfin whispered, "You look mighty like that Muggle."

"What Muggle?" Tom asked sharply.

"That Muggle what my sister took a fancy to, that Muggle what lives in the big house over the way," Morfin explained, and then he spat unexpectedly upon the floor between them.

"You look right like him. _Riddle. _But he's older now, in 'e? He's older'n you, now I think on it…"

Morfin appeared to be slightly dazed and swayed a little, still clutching the edge of the table for support. "He come back, see," he explained to Tom.

Tom gazed at Morfin knowing that the man would be a very good source of information if not more...

Finally, Tom moved closer, subtly drawing his wand. He would quickly incapacitate the savage, should there be a need for that.

"Riddle came back?" he asked quietly, wanting to hear the rest of the story.

"Ar, he left her, and serve her right, marrying filth!" Morfin growled, spitting on the floor again, "Robbed us, the filthy slut, mind y'a, before she ran off."

Suddenly Morfin became infuriated, as if he had remembered something that still maddened him.

"Where's the locket, eh, where's Slytherin's locket?" He roared, attempting to seize Tom by the collar of his shirt.

Tom was having none of it. In fact, he'd had just enough. Such worthless freaks as that Mary and Morfin were only wasting his time.

He quickly fired a Banishing Charm towards the other man, not wanting to have any physical contact with him.

"Calm down," Tom ordered absently.

He then subtly poured a mixture of Forgetfulness Potion and a Sleeping Draught into man's cup as Morfin was working himself into a rage again.

Meanwhile Morfin brandished his knife as he continued to shout, not paying any attention to what the teen was doing, "Dishonoured us, she did, that little slut! And who're you, coming here and asking questions about all that? It's over, innit… It's over…"

"Drink," Tom ordered, his voice acquiring a note of menace.

Morfin obeyed, he wouldn't have any other choice, not with the effects of the compulsion charm over the glass.

Tom watched the man as he drank, almost thankful for his presence.

The presence of another wizard meant that he could do as much magic as he pleased without raising any suspicions among the Ministry of Magic.

The effects of alcohol mixed with the potions were almost instantaneous.

Tom decided to leave Morfin for a while, he would return soon enough.

Right now he would pay a little visit to the owners of the mansion atop the hill—all the pieces of the puzzle that was the history of his 'family' had just come together.

Before making his exit, Tom discreetly took Morfin's ring and his wand—whatever would happen tonight, in the eyes of the law it would be the responsibility of his _dearest uncle _Morfin.

xxx

Standing tall and proud atop the hill overlooking the entire village, the Riddle Manor was quite a sight. Executed in a fine Georgian style, the manor must have been originally built in the second half of the nineteenth century, Tom deduced.

The place wasn't anywhere as great as the Black Country House that Tom had visited when Alphard Black had invited him along, but there still was a great difference between this house and the shack that Tom had just left behind.

Muggle war had never touched this part of the country—that much was obvious.

Without further ado, Tom rang the bell.

It was late.

He waited.

_Silence._

Finally, there was a commotion on the other side of the door.

The man who had opened the door looked like an older version of himself—now Tom understood Morfin's reaction. It was rather fortunate that he had put a spell on the barmaid earlier; otherwise there would have been awkward questions.

The colour drained from the man's face as he saw who had rung at this late hour.

"Who is it, Tom?" a woman's voice asked.

Neither '_Tom_'—Senior or Junior—answered her; she came over to look what was happening.

"_Goodness!" _the elderly woman exclaimed, dropping the book that she had been holding—'_The Holy Bible', _the teen noticed.

"I don't believe it…" the man said slowly to himself, before his eyes refocused and he growled, "Get out… Get out, you have no business here... What do you want? Did she send you? I vowed all those years ago that I wouldn't let any of you ruin my life anymore... You've done enough—"

"She didn't send me. She's dead. She died the moment I was born," Tom cut him off.

"Let him come in, son," the woman suddenly spoke—_his grandmother._

"No, mother, you don't know these people, the kind of power they possess—"

"Let him come in. Lord knows, one of them would have come someday."

_So this was how it was going to be._

Tom tightened his hold around Morfin's wand—all those years he had been imagining this meeting...when he had been younger he had even secretly and shamefully hoped that there had been some serious reason behind why his family had left him at the orphanage... But no... All Muggles were the same...

Before Tom could say anything to either his father or grandmother, they were promptly joined by yet another person.

"What is it, Mary?"

The older man's face morphed into an exquisite picture of shock and horror, perfectly mirroring the expression of the other two when he saw who the late night visitor was.

"I can't believe it... this is..."

"My name is Tom Marvolo Riddle. I believe you are my father," Tom said coldly, his dark eyes acquiring a steely glint as his voice steadily grew vacant of any emotion, "And you two must be my grandparents."

"Thomas… let him come in…"

Mary Riddle looked pleadingly at her husband, ignoring her son's protests.

It looked like Thomas Riddle was still considered the head of the house, for his word turned out to be final.

"Come in," the eldest Riddle barked at his grandchild quite unceremoniously after giving a quick nod to his wife, "Go to the dining room and wait there. Don't touch anything."

The teen was promptly led to the dining room, closely accompanied by his father and grandmother with both of them surveying him apprehensively—and in his father's case, also with contempt bordering on hatred.

Ironically, this was the first time the future Dark Lord had been looked at with _hatred_. Many people disliked and subconsciously feared him, yes, but those were all petty things based on jealousy and nothing more.

This time it was hatred in its purest form.

And yet the family had invited their unwelcome guest to the dining room...

Tom's puzzle was solved as soon as the trio arrived at their destination—the windows of the dining room faced the backyard, which meant that nobody who would have happened to wander along the street at this late hour would have been able to see that the Riddles had a visitor.

They were obviously ashamed of him and wanted to keep his visit a secret.

_Even better—their advantage would soon become a disadvantage._

A quick and superficial analysis of the room gave Tom even more information about his paternal side of the family.

The table was covered. The Riddles had been having a late dinner before his arrival. The food looked far better than the disgusting muck that they were forced to eat at the orphanage. The dining room itself was decorated modestly, but tastefully. These people obviously didn't lack money.

"What do you want?"

It had been his father who addressed him.

Very quickly Tom stopped surveying the room and snapped back to reality.

It was funny really. Tom had to suppress a bitter smile. How ironic that he found himself agreeing with the stupid Muggle barmaid. They really were 'rude', the Riddles.

"What do I want?" Tom repeated quietly, finally taking out Morfin's wand, examining it, "Until this moment I had simply wanted to meet you, talk to you… But now…now my visit has a very special purpose, but first tell me—aren't you in the least bit curious about me, about my mother...how she died?"

"Curious?" Tom Riddle Senior asked incredulously, "Curious? No, I'm not _curious_. The bitch ruined my life, my reputation...I was about to get married to the woman I loved...I was about to have a happy life, but she...she had to ruin everything... She drugged me, convinced me to go to that filthy cellar in London, where she would constantly drug me...and then one day, when I finally felt..._lucid_...she told me that she was pregnant and that I had to stay with her...So no, I'm not _curious_. I couldn't care in the slightest—not about her and certainly not about you."

"Sit down," Tom growled suddenly, abandoning the civil approach completely, these people were impossible to deal with in any other way but direct and brutal, "And you—put that down, such pathetic weaponry won't stop me," he added to his grandfather who had re-emerged, carrying a loaded gun.

"I need to protect my family, boy, you must understand—what if you are just as mad as that lunatic from the shack? We've been suffering for years..."

"Protect your family?" Tom asked raising an eyebrow, "Aren't I your family, _grandfather_?"

The effect of the jab had been somewhat ruined by the bitterness that still managed to seep into Tom's voice, but the distraction still worked.

Thomas Riddle's hand faltered and he lost his aim.

Tom quickly took the opportunity to shoot a curse at his grandfather.

The eldest Riddle fell on the ground, greedily trying to catch a gulp of air, his lips having acquired a bluish hue.

There was an instant uproar. Tom Riddle Senior made a move to attack his son, while Mary Riddle screamed.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," Tom admonished, sending a paralytic curse in the direction of his father.

Magic was might and the Riddles who were unable to use it hardly stood a chance.

"_Now _I want everybody to sit down, don't make me repeat myself again!"

Mary Riddle eyed her grandchild fearfully—Tom could see her inner turmoil, her thoughts were very poorly concealed.

It were those very thoughts that fuelled his fury—his father's open rejection was almost nothing compared to them.

"What are you waiting for? Help him up," Tom ordered idly, seeing her hesitantly looking at her husband who had begun to recover from the curse.

Trembling with fright, Mary rushed to her husband, helped him up and directed him towards the chair, while Tom levitated his still paralyzed father to the same location, simultaneously setting up the wards, so that nobody would be able to hear what was going on inside the house.

When his family was seated in terrible anticipation, it was time to start.

"You know, I was looking for you for years. First among my kind,then among your kind. It wasn't easy. It's taken me precisely five years of meticulous research—and yet this is how you greet me—by referring to me as some "boy" who has come to disturb your peace."

The Riddle matriarch burst into tears at that.

"I wanted to find you, I had been telling Tom all along..."

"I know."

She looked at him quizzically, fearfully, her lips slightly parted, but the question was never formed.

"I can see it in your mind. You wanted to buy me off, didn't you, grandmother?How very..._kind _of you."

Once he'd voiced it, everybody knew it to be the truth. Mary Riddle couldn't bring herself to feel even the remotest of affections towards the "witch's spawn", but her Christian morals didn't let her forget about the existence of her son's bastard either. And so she had wanted to find him and offer him some money, so that her conscience would be at peace.

Suddenly Tom smiled. It was a genuine smile and a very unsettling one.

_Stupid woman, did she really think that she could have deceived him by pretending to care?_

"By killing you I'll be doing the whole village a great favour. They all hate you, did you know that?" Tom asked conversationally.

"You little _bast_—"

This time Tom's only reply to his father was in the form of a _Cruciatus_.

"You can scream all you want, nobody will hear you," he taunted as he lifted the curse, "By the way, I won't be taking any insults from you—should you say anything like that again, you will regret it—that is a promise."

Morfin's wand was working surprisingly well for him—maybe it too, recognized him as family.

Interesting.

Still, despite the threats, Tom couldn't actually cause any real physical damage, he had to be methodical about his actions. He couldn't torture the Riddles as much as he would have wanted to because there was Muggle police to be considered, not to mention the Auror squad. Any torture methods he would be using tonight had to be on a mediocre level because he doubted that Morfin still retained the ability to perform really complicated magic. Should his magic be outstanding, the Auror squad would grow instantly suspicious about the identity of the criminal.

_The criminal_.

The thought amused him more than anything, for long ago there had been a time when he had dreamed that his reunion with his family would have been different. Yet all this time he had been searching for something that never existed.

"You look frightened, grandmother," Tom commented suddenly, "What is it that frightens you? Are you afraid that I am going to do the same thing to you? It would only be fair, you know..."

"Please...have mercy…my Tom has sinned...Satan led him astray…he never meant—" the elderly woman spoke with urgency, as if it was the most important thing in the world to explain...

Well, it was, but the ferocity of her grandchild's gaze forced her to choke on her words.

"Listen to yourself," came a quiet whisper, "You dare to ask for mercy. You dare to excuse _him_... And what about you? Did y_ou _have any mercy for me? You knew perfectly well how the war affected London, and yet did you ever take any genuine interest in my fate?"

Tom's voice had been steadily growing louder, it was really difficult not to give in to the temptation and make the demise of these...Muggles...as gory and monstrous as some of the darkest books of curses had taught him...

As if sensing her grandchild's thoughts, Mary looked as though she had just seen the devil himself.

"Stop tormenting your grandmother," Thomas Riddle suddenly barked.

Tom wanted to laugh at the authoritative tone that his voice had acquired.

"If you want someone to blame, blame the witch you have for a mother, she was the one who started it, putting evil spells on innocent, hard-working people..."

"Is that all you have to say after sixteen years of neglect? 'Blame it on your _witch _of a mother'?"

_That man had just sealed his fate. Good. He would start with him then. _

"Crucio."

His grandfather's screams were like music to his ears, but very suddenly the screams stopped.

Thomas Riddle had died.

His heart gave out.

So quickly and unpredictably. Who could have known?

The young Dark Lord had been just as shocked as the rest of his family, although he hid his surprise well.

It was even better so. The old man had obviously had a heart condition and the little bit of torture was more than he had been able to handle. Yet his sudden death also meant that the ecchymoses would not be forming despite the contractions that the muscles went through when he had been subjected to the _Cruciatus_. Rather fortunate actually. Less clean-up work for later.

Speaking of the danger of the cuts and bruises showing, he really had to be careful. He would only use the Cruciatus on about every two seconds, giving the muscles a break. Quick curses at short intervals would cause a lot of pain, but almost no physical evidence would remain as there wouldn't be time for muscular contractions to be severe enough to leave them.

Yes, that should work nicely, not to mention that he could always heal the injuries as soon as they occurred.

"Who wants to be next?" Tom then asked, proceeding with his agenda as if his grandfather's sudden death had been planned, "Perhaps you—grandmother? The quicker we get this over with, the better, don't you think? Your wish of having nothing to do with me will come true..."

She didn't answer him, instead she continued crying. She seemed catatonic if anything, crying only on the effect of some physical impulse.

"What is it? I thought you would be happy to get rid of me...I promise I'll leave...once I'm finished here."

This time she did answer, but it wasn't what he had been expecting.

_"H-h-heavenly Father, h-h-have m-mercy on me..."_

She started praying.

Pathetic.

"Shut up!" Tom ordered.

"_...I-I b-believe t-that Jesus Christ is the Son of the l-living..."_

"I said shut up, you old hypocrite, you should have thought of the consequences before turning your back on me. It's too late now."

But she wouldn't shut up.

Tom had a feeling that she wasn't listening at all.

"_...I m-m-may n-n-now h-h-have f-f-f-f-orgiveness f-f-for m-my s-sin__—__"_

"Avada Kedavra."

The curse was fired to shut her up more than anything. He had done so in a rush of adrenaline really.

That stupid, annoying woman—didn't she realize what he'd been through? His fourth birthday, the worst birthday he'd ever had...he'd done accidental magic on New Year's Eve and it had earned him a punishment in the coldest and most faraway cell-like room while the rest of them were celebrating...hurting, confused, cold, and very hungry they had left him there...and Billy Stubbs had laughed...Tom had remembered it despite being just four...but in the end Billy Stubbs had gotten what he deserved, for laughing at him...for punching him...Tom had hung his rabbit. The justice had been served—just like tonight.

Second kill of the night.

"It's just you and me, father."

Tom Riddle Senior didn't comment, he only stared at the corpses of his parents—corpses that seemed otherwise unharmed, except that both faces were frozen in a mask of absolute terror.

"You've been rather quiet..."

The comment was purely rhetorical.

"Ah, of course, I'm sorry—I must have placed it on you out of reflex."

It was only now that Tom noticed that he had automatically cast a _Silencio _on his father—he hadn't even been aware of that, funny how magic had become something so natural that he didn't even notice such little things anymore, but that certainly explained how his father had stayed quiet during the murder of his parents.

The teen promptly removed the silencing spell.

"Better?"

Still, no reply.

"Now really? Are you giving me the silent treatment? Hoping that I will kill you quickly too if you follow my dear grandmother's suit?" Tom continued, now somewhat annoyed, "You hope in vain, I had my reasons to kill her quickly, with you it will be different, so better talk to me while you still have your tongue attached. I was hoping to hear your side of the story, not the outburst, I mean, the real story—'Cinderella fairy-tale gone wrong', wasn't it? Because after seeing both this luxurious house and then the shack hidden on the brink of woods...I wonder what happened...My poor mother must have thought that you were a right _prince charming _whose 'love' would save her from misery...except...she was wrong, wasn't she?"

The monologue had its desired effect—people could hardly remain unresponsive once you hit a nerve.

"You..." Tom Riddle Senior said slowly, starting to tremble, "You..."

"Yes?"

"You are not my son, you are the_ devil_—damned be the day when you were conceived. I wish you would have died alongside that bitch."

"_That _isn't a nice thing to say—I did warn you."

"What you are going to do?" his father only sneered in response, "My life was over long before you came. The worst you can do is to torture me before you kill me, but it's nothing I haven't felt before. I will die eventually and you are going to live with the knowledge that you are just as worthless—"

"Crucio."

The screams echoed off the walls of the manor once again and this time Tom added even more viciousness into the curse.

He wasn't going to listen to anymore insults.

_Not from him. _

Very methodically, Tom tortured his father, causing horrendous pain yet leaving little to no physical evidence.

Tom would heal the minor injuries as soon as they appeared and would then resume torturing.

Little by little his short torture sessions yielded the desired effect—despite the initial bravado, everybody tended to become less 'courageous' as the survival instincts took over.

The human body could handle only so much physical pain.

His father was no exception to the universal laws of physiology. In the end he had simply begged. He had begged for just one thing—just to kill him. No trace of that cold arrogance was left in him anymore.

Justice was served.

Finally the third corpse hit the floor—seemingly unharmed, but each face a frozen mask of sheer terror.

xxx

Funny how things that were meant to bring pure, unadulterated pleasure, don't always end up doing so once they're achieved.

That was what had happened to the young Dark Lord.

Staring coldly at his father's corpse that now rested not far away from the corpses of his grandparents, Tom didn't feel any joy—nor any sense of accomplishment.

He was empty. Hollow inside.

_Did he even say anything to his father before striking the final blow?_

_He didn't remember__—__not that it mattered._

Something glittering caught his eye—Morfin's ring—he had almost dropped it.

An idea formed in his mind. His father had been a useless coward; despicable even for a Muggle—but maybe he could be useful in his death...Why not?

His father would serve one last purpose—his death would not be in vain. No. He would use this death to create yet another Horcrux.

It was an excellent idea.

The clock had struck. It was exactly two o'clock in the morning—better hurry now, there was a lot to do. He had to remove any evidence of him ever being in the Riddle House. A cleaning charm had to be applied to every surface he might have touched during his visit—not even as much as his lingering scent could remain.

Muggle police would most definitely resort to checking the place for fingerprints and dogs might be used as well. The latter was very unlikely, but it was better eliminate every danger possible—regardless of how insignificant it may seem.

Neither Muggle police nor the Auror squad would ever discover anything about tonight's events. As far as the law was concerned, it would be Morfin Gaunt who had killed the Muggles.

_Morfin Gaunt_—quite a lot of mind magic had to be performed on that one now—but first, the Horcrux.

Morfin's ring was a more than appropriate vessel for this. Ancient and exuding some mysteriously intangible magical power.

The teen quickly swept around the room, conjuring dozens of candles and lighting them for the ritual. He then drew a circle of blood in the centre of the room, laughing as he imagined the expressions of his recently murdered 'relatives.' They would have been scared witless, no doubt—even more so than they had already been. Especially the old hypocrite who had thought herself to be a saint.

He had to be serious though. The ritual was important.

He moved his father's corpse in the centre of the circle and concentrated on drawing the runic symbols, chanting all the while.

Once everything was ready, it was better to get over with it as quickly as possible. The pain of creating a Horcrux was excruciating.

The next thing that followed wa_s_ exactly thi_s pain_—agonizing, inhuman, and all-consuming. It was somehow more terrible than the first time.

For the first time in his life, Tom had been terrified himself, for the pain caused by the ritual should have never been so deep.

_What was happening? _

_Was he actually dying?_

_Did he do something wrong?_

_Had there been any universal laws that made creating two Horcruxes impossible?_

_Had he missed some of the warnings in the book?_

_Was it the method of killing that affected the process making it impossibly painful?_

The thoughts were erratic and perhaps half-delirious.

It took great self-discipline and effort to finish the ritual exactly how the book described.

All the questions had to wait—he'd stage a conversation with Slughorn about it...for now...he had to remove the evidence...that was all that mattered...He couldn't afford blacking out now...Not now...no...

xxx

_September 1st, 1943_

In the years to come, Tom didn't quite remember how he had managed everything.

All he knew is that after he'd removed all the evidence of his presence in the house, he had returned to the Gaunt shack and found a still sleeping Morfin on the floor.

Modifying Morfin's memory and making him believe that it had been him who had killed the Muggles was ridiculously easy.

No challenge at all.

Why had it been so easy, Tom didn't even know. It might have been that Morfin's worthless brain was just very easy to manipulate by magic as it didn't offer any natural resistance to the intruders. Or perhaps it had been so easy because Tom had already had the necessary experience, having performed similar mind magic on McGonagall before the end of the last term.

It wasn't really important. No. The important thing was that he had succeeded.

Once the pain from creating a Horcrux had somewhat subsided, Tom had felt euphoric. The ring in which Tom had placed a piece of his soul became somehow_ aliv_e even if a Horcrux was exactly the opposite of anything living due to its unnatural origin.

Whenever Tom touched the ring, it felt familiar—as if it were a relative. _True relative_. Not like the savage Morfin or the cowardly, traitorous Muggles. As if it had been consoling him in a way. Tom had never felt any similar emotion from anyone. It was refreshing to feel something like that.

Tom was wearing the ring even now as he was sitting in the Great Hall, watching the new students being sorted.

It was the first day of the new term. Traditionally, the new school year at Hogwarts began with the feast.

The Great Hall was lit by thousands of candles that were floating in mid-air over four long tables, where the rest of the students were sitting. These tables were laden with glittering golden plates and goblets.

From year to year nothing changed. The repetitiveness annoyed Tom more than anything.

At least he was feeling alright. It would have been more difficult to endure the dull ceremony otherwise—not that he would have chosen to be there in the first place, hadn't it been for his reputation of an exemplary student.

Still, he was feeling alright, and it was important because as much as Tom loathed to admit it, the unnatural lingering pain that had persisted after creating the second Horcrux bothered him somewhat.

Thankfully, he hadn't blacked out back then, but he had had a very high fever upon coming back to the orphanage. Mrs. Cole had called a doctor and the doctor had been perplexed to find him in such a condition, especially when Mrs. Cole had assured him that none of the other children exhibited such symptoms and that the night before Tom had been feeling perfectly alright as well...

Strange symptoms of the mysterious illness had disappeared just as suddenly as they had occurred and Tom was left to wonder what had happened.

There were some minor physiological changes too, Tom noticed, his sleeping and eating habits were now different...Only slightly, but still...

There were so many unanswered questions in the obscure branches of the Darkest Magic...

_« Qu'est-ce qu'il y a? Quelque chose ne va pas ? » _

Tom immediately turned his head when he heard French being spoken.

There were only a handful few who spoke the language.

In a way it was simply a means of demonstrating superiority—by conversing in a language that wasn't spoken by the vast majority of Hogwarts students, Blacks showed their superiority. Showed that they came from those circles of the wizarding society that had both means and possibilities that the others lacked.

The speaker had been Orion Black and he was looking somewhat worriedly at his cousin Cygnus.

Cygnus growled something in response and turned away from Orion.

Alphard Black wasn't to be seen anywhere.

He hadn't returned to Hogwarts.

Tom had foreseen this possibility. After all, the Blacks _did _have means and possibilities that the others lacked and unlike Tom, for someone like Alphard, magical education wasn't solely limited with Hogwarts.

Money and connections were important everywhere and the magical world certainly wasn't an exception.

No matter, Alphard would pay for his betrayal later...all in due time.

For now there was Cygnus.

At that precise moment Cygnus decided to look in Tom's direction. Whether intentionally or not, Tom wasn't sure, but their gazes met, and once they did, Tom saw something unusual.

Baby Black was wearing an expression that seemed to be somehow 'resolved' or 'determined'. There was only a tiny hint of nervousness, otherwise it looked almost like a..._challenge_? Could it be?

But then again, why not?

Tom remembered very well how three years ago Cygnus Black had arrived at Hogwarts.

The very first thing that Tom had noticed about the youngest Black was that he was very different from his siblings. It was to be expected. The Blacks, unlike other families, tended to resemble each other only in appearance, their persona being a different matter entirely. The differences were so great that the rest of the wizarding population had usually a hard time believing that these individuals were indeed related.

What turned out to be rather unpleasant about the youngest Black, however, was his overly observant and suspicious personality. Unlike Walburga and Alphard before him, Cygnus had always been wary and untrusting when it came to Tom.

Whether Cygnus's hostility was provoked by fear of the life debt that Tom had tricked him into or by something else, Tom truly didn't care. What annoyed him was the fact that the youngest Black had dared to attempt to undermine his influence.

He had started out quietly and Tom wouldn't have even known if it hadn't been for a certain tasteless joke on the part of Abraxas that '_Baby Black_ was trying to start a club on his own'.

It was then that Tom started investigating and it turned out that Cygnus had tried to talk to Alphard, namely trying to make Alphard see how 'Tom tried to keep everything under his control by making everyone report to him'. Luckily for Tom, Baby Black hadn't expressed his thoughts very clearly and on that particular occasion he hadn't told Alphard anything that the latter hadn't already known. For once Cygnus's secretive nature had actually worked against him. Had he told Alphard about the life debt that Tom had forced him into, it would certainly have changed things. Alphard would have become his enemy.

The funny thing about the Blacks was that even though they apparently hated each other, they always stuck together when one of them was seriously threatened by an outsider.

Still, Cygnus had kept their deal a secret and no matter how irrational and stupid the move was, Tom welcomed it. Cygnus's stupidity made things a lot easier.

To avoid any further heart-to-heart talks between the brothers, Tom had made sure to alienate the two. It hadn't been easy at first, but with a series of well-thought schemes and events, Tom had achieved his goal.

After a while the brothers had indeed gotten alienated.

Everything had been running smoothly since again.

Isolated and without any support, Cygnus was nothing.

Tom made sure that Cygnus wouldn't be taken seriously by anyone. The only person who would still stick by the annoying brat, was his cousin Orion—just as annoying and unimportant. The two of them had become generally known as 'Lucretia's and Alphard's younger brothers'. In Cygnus's case nobody even bothered to remember his first name—if he hadn't been a Black, he would have been simply invisible.

It was amusing really.

_And now he thought he could challenge him?_

Poor boy.

Tom would have felt sorry for him, if he hadn't hated him so much.

Still, changes were due.

Alphard was no longer there— but Cygnus was.

The show could begin.

* * *

**Author's note**: Hello, my dear readers! I know that it's been a while and even if it feels that the current chapter is more of a filler, I really hope that the research makes up for it. The surname "Riddle" is either of Anglo-Saxon or French origin and it has changed throughout the years having had many variations, among them "Ryedale", "Riddal", "Ridel", and many others. Similar surnames have been recorded in Westmorland and Yorkshire, England and this is the reason why Tom visits Appleby, which is located in in North West England.

Now, I understand that I touched upon a sensitive topic in regards of Mary Riddle. I want to make it perfectly clear that I am, in fact, not expressing any negative attitude towards Christianity or religion in general. In fact, I think that Christianity teaches very good values - moral and kind ones - because human beings should resemble God and it's all about kindness and purity. Mary Riddle, on the other hand, might have learned her prayers, but she hasn't understood the meaning of being a Christian. Had she been a true Christian, she wouldn't be as callous and prejudiced as to leave her only grandchild at the orphanage, hoping that he would just cease to exit at some point.

**Lastly, I take the opportunity to make an announcement.**

I would like to start a new story, which would be about Albus Dumbledore and Gellert Grindelwald. It will a story that will take you on a journey. A story when you stick with the protagonist and discover what it's like to find a perfect friend. He is the only person who seemingly understands what you are going through. You earnestly believe that it is going to be a friendship for life…but then you will also start seeing ulterior motives, the sinister intentions lurking somewhere in the depths of your friend's mind. You are confused and frightened because by the time you understand what's really at stake…it's too late.

My question to you is whether you would like to read such a story? Please let me know in your reviews.

And finally, my usual "thank yous" and disclaimers apply: "Harry Potter" belongs to JKR and my dear, **TheMuser**, thank you as always.


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